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“That’s good to know,” replied Decker. “I have to admit that I went to the OK Corral Saloon and watched you two dancing. Frankly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him more uncomfortable.”
Dawson smiled. “Heisvery awkward in his own skin when it comes to things like that. But it’s also very endearing.” She glanced up at Decker. “But I’ve found that I like showing him there’s more to life, you know.”
“I can see that,” said Jamison appreciatively. “Sometimes guys need a little helping hand in that regard.”
“He’s nice and there’s something about him, I don’t know, this naïve quality, that really appeals to me. Plus, he’s quite the gentleman. And he fought for his country. I mean, I definitely feel safe when I’m around him.”
“Did he talk about his combat days?” asked Decker.
“Never, and I’ve asked.”
Decker said, “He was Special Forces. Fought in the Middle East. Got a bunch of medals. Was even wounded. But the ones who do the most in war don’t talk about it. That’s why Stan keeps quiet about it. He’s a straight-up guy.”
“Wow, that’s impressive.”
“I’m not sure he can keep up with you, though,” said Decker.
“We’re not looking to get married. We’re just having fun.” Dawson’s smile faded as she looked over Jamison’s shoulder.
Jamison and Decker turned to see what she was staring at. A short man, barely five-two, in his early sixties had come into the dining room. Despite the heat he was dressed in an expensive woolen three-piece suit and blue paisley tie with a matching pocket handkerchief. Decker thought he had never seen a pair of more intense eyes. Next to him was a good-looking, tall, well-built man about Caroline Dawson’s age.
“Let me take a wild guess,” said Jamison. “Is that Stuart McClellan?”
Dawson said, “Yes. And his son, Shane. I wonder what they’re doing here.”
“Do they not frequent places like this?” asked Decker, studying the two men.
“They don’t frequent any place owned by my father. At least Stuart doesn’t.”
“Well, from what we learned, that severely limits their options,” said Decker.
“Something my father takes delight in.”
Stuart McClellan spotted Dawson and headed over with his son in tow.
“Hello, Caroline,” said McClellan, his voice surprisingly low and baritone. So much so that Decker wondered if it was affected.
“Stuart.” She glanced at his son. “Hi, Shane.”
Shane broke into a grin and drew closer to the table. “Hey, Caroline. What’s up?”
His father aggressively elbowed him aside. “And these two are the FBI agents?”
“Yes,” said Jamison after glancing at Decker.
“Nasty business. I’m StuartMcClellan,by the way. You probably passed some of my fracking wells when you were coming in.”
“We did,” replied Jamison. “And I guess we also saw some of the neighborhoods where your workers live.”
“I had Shane oversee some of their construction, and for once he didn’t . . . I mean to say, he did a pretty good job.”
“Thanks, Pop,” said Shane, seemingly oblivious to the underlying meaning in his father’s “praise.” He seemed to have eyes only for Caroline, who would not meet his gaze.
Decker said, “Did either of you know Irene Cramer?”
Stuart shook his head. “Shane?”
He finally managed to draw his gaze from Caroline and said, “Nope. Didn’t know her.”
