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He led them through the front door and Leigh saw that her mother’s mouth was slightly agape as her glazed eyes roamed the interior of the house. Chad treated the Jacksons with friendly politeness as he saw to their comfort and escorted them into the dining room. The table was set with an eye for detail, even the fresh-flower centerpiece of chrysanthemums and marigolds. Leigh helped Chad serve.
“Did you make the quiche?” Lois asked politely, taking a dainty bite.
Chad laughed and wiped his mouth on a cloth napkin. “No, ma’am. My housekeeper did. All I had to do this morning was put it in the oven. That I can handle.”
Leigh had looked in disbelief at the dishes Chad had selected for his menu. Knowing his appetite, she had expected meat and potatoes, or perhaps chili con carne, something hearty and substantial. But he’d had Mrs. De Leon prepare fruit compotes, mushroom and bacon quiche, spinach salad with mandarin oranges and almonds, and ice-cream parfaits served in delicate, long-stemmed glasses. Everything was delicious and attractively prepared, but Leigh choked with laughter every time she saw Chad taking a small bite of quiche.
Lois insisted that she and Leigh clear the table after lunch. Sarah had been fed and was making herself at home in the baby bed Chad had already installed in one of the four bedrooms. He and Harve had gone out to take practice shots on the putting green near the pool.
“You could have warned me, Leigh,” her mother said acerbically.
“About what?” Leigh asked innocently as she blotted up pastry crumbs from the linen tablecloth with a damp sponge.
“About… about all this,” Lois said, waving her hands around to encompass the house. “You led me to believe Chad Dillon was virtually impoverished.”
“When I fell in love with him, Mother, I thought he was. And I don’t consider all this opulence as one of Chad’s primary attractions, either. I love him for the man he is. I was hoping you and Dad would, too.”
“Oh, Leigh,” Lois said reproachfully. “I know you think I’m mercenary, but you don’t know what it’s like to be poor and I do. I saw my parents’ marriage founder under the strain of supporting four children on an inadequate income.” A shadow of pain crossed her face at the unpleasant memory. “Money may not bring happiness in itself, Leigh, but it’s impossible to be happy without it. Think how you’d feel if you couldn’t give Sarah nice presents for her birthdays and Christmas, had to dress her in hand-me-downs, couldn’t send her to college.”
Seeing her mother’s face crumple with a vulnerability that she had never before shown her daughter, Leigh was instantly contrite. Lois had rarely spoken of her own childhood, but Leigh felt she ought to have remembered that early deprivation was the cause of her mother’s obsession with material goods.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I know you only want the best for me. I just wanted you to see that Chad is the best, not because of what he has but because of who he is.”
“He’s sterling through and through,” Lois said stoutly. Leigh suppressed a smile at the image her mother had chosen as she put her arms around the older woman for a quick hug.
Lois Jackson returned her daughter’s embrace with a characteristic lack of effusiveness, but Leigh felt they had made some sort of separate peace. The two women were subdued when the men came back inside. Chad built a fire in the huge fireplace in his living room, the stone chimney of which disappeared into the ceiling two stories above.
He provided everyone except Leigh with a cup of coffee as they arranged themselves comfortably around the hearth. Chad seated himself next to Leigh on one of the plush sofas and pulled her under the security of his arm.
“Leigh said you worked on oil wells, Chad. Exactly what do you do?” Mr. Jackson asked.
“I work for Flameco.”
“Flameco,” Harve said, his forehead wrinkled in perplexity. “I’ve heard of it, but can’t quite place—”
“Wild-well control,” Chad provided quietly.
“Oh, my God!” Lois’s cup rattled loudly in her saucer until she set both on the small walnut table beside her chair. Her eyes riveted on Leigh, and for the first time that day, Leigh couldn’t find it within herself to face her mother. She looked down at her hands.
“You… uh… you put out oil-well fires?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What specifically is your job?”
Chad hitched his ankle over his knee. He was wearing a pair of brown dress shoes Leigh had never seen before. She wanted to concentrate on them rather than hear what he had to tell her father.
“The whole crew works together, of course, but my main job is to tap off the leak once the fire is out.”
“How does that work?”
“In lay terms, we put an explosive device over the leak where the fire is originating. When it explodes, it consumes the oxygen and puts out the initial flame. That’s when I go in with a multi-headed valve. I have to lock it down over the gas leak before another spark—”
Leigh’s shudder brought his words to an abrupt halt. He squeezed her shoulder and tried to smile at her. She refused to lift her head to the eyes she could feel on her, and instead continued to stare at his shoes.
“Very dangerous work, I would imagine,” Harve said candidly.
“Yes, sir, but carefully executed. We all know what we’re doing and taking no careless chances. Each fire is different and each one is studied thoroughly before we even set up.”
