Open Invitation?

“Splendid! And you?”

“Can’t complain. Dad’s fine, too, by the way.”

She expelled an audible breath.

He added, “Salutations to dear Nigel, of course.”

“Daniel, your sarcasm is not appreciated.”

“Sarcasm?”

“Nigel is a lovely man. I’m very lucky.”

Uh-huh. Nigel-the-Lovely had broken up Dan’s parents’ marriage without a qualm and whisked Louella off to Merry Olde England without her fourteen-year-old son.

Nigel, being a real peach, hadn’t wanted a sullen teenager weighing down the bliss of his new marriage. And Louella had preferred the guilt of leaving her son behind to the realities of raising him. She was very sorry for the way things had turned out, but young Dan had been a little wild and needed the firm guidance that only his father could give him. He was to visit for a month out of every summer though. Wasn’t that just divine?

Nope. Dan couldn’t stomach tea and crumpets and Lovely Nigel. He’d lasted for exactly ten days on his first visit before announcing that he hated Nigel’s stuffy mausoleum, he couldn’t stand British food and there was no way in hell he’d ever call Mama “Mummy.” He’d taken the first available flight to Dallas. Hard to believe that was twenty-two years ago. Even harder to believe that little Claire, his twenty-one-year-old half sister, was now getting married in just three short weeks. Claire had been the only bright spot in his visits.

Mama waxed poetic and floral about the upcoming wedding, while all he could think about was how he’d adored his little barefoot hellion of a sister. In an odd arrangement, she’d come to visit a few times with Mama.

Claire the sweet, funny tomboy with the sunny personality and Nigel’s snooty accent. Dan had taught her to appreciate the value of a good peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich on Wonder bread instead of those vile crumpets. And as for tea—the only way to drink the stuff, as far as Dan was concerned, was cold and sweet, with a healthy dose of lemon. No fussy porcelain with curlicue handles. No silver sugar tongs. No milk.

“So, darling,” his mother said, her voice holding a note of determination. “I said you’d call her. You understand it’s only for Claire that I ask.”

Huh? He’d obviously missed something. “Mama, I’m sorry—my mind was wandering. Who am I supposed to call?”

“Lilia London, Daniel. Of Finesse.”

“And why am I supposed to call this woman?”

“Daniel! I may as well have been talking to a stump. Now listen to me this time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“As I told you, Claire’s fiancé is a gentleman of impeccable lineage, and the family is very prominent. His father has a seat in the House of Lords. He’s a viscount.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Well, the thing is, Claire wants to be sure the wedding and reception go smoothly. And she doesn’t want to…” his mother trailed off delicately. “She would like to avoid embarrassment. Not to mention that she’d like you to be comfortable—”

“I’ll be fine. I couldn’t care less about rubbing shoulders with the snoots. I’ll hang out with the common folk. The, uh, hoi polloi, I believe you call them.”

“Yes, well. I’m afraid that there won’t be any common folk at the festivities, Daniel. That’s rather the issue here, darling.”

Dan felt irritation spark somewhere in the region of his liver. Now what? “Would you like me to just stay in the kitchen, then, Mama? Wash the pots and pans?”

“Of course not, silly goose! What a mad idea.” She trilled with laughter. “It would never do for the bride’s brother to be working in the kitchen.”

Of course not. Bad for the family image.

“But you have to admit that you’re rather rough around the edges, and this will be a challenging social situation. Five forks at the sit-down dinner, you know. Ballroom dancing with a live orchestra. And a Sunday morning mini-steeplechase—it should have been a hunt, but the horrid government put an end to that—followed by a champagne luncheon.”

Dan tried to imagine what in the hell anybody did with five forks at one meal, besides use them to stab obnoxious dinner companions whose politics you didn’t agree with.

“…so I want you to call Lilia, dearest. She’ll work with you for the next two weeks. Teach you conversation, table etiquette and dancing. She’s going to outfit you with proper clothes, too.”

The irritation in Dan’s liver flamed into full-fledged annoyance, not to mention hurt. “You have got to be kiddin’ me. You want to train me like a chimp just for this blasted, stupid, redcoat wedding?”

“It’s not blasted and stupid! It’s the most important day—weekend—of your sister’s life. This is a very small favor to ask.”

“Uh-huh. And how much will this small favor cost? Is Lovely Nigel footing the bill?”

Silence. “Daniel, you’ve done very well for yourself with the ranching and the oil leases. There is no reason Nigel should be asked to…to…pay for your civilization.”

Dan stuck a finger in his ear and jiggled it, hard. “My what? Did I hear you right? Did you just say my civilization?”

Louella sighed. “It’s only a figure of speech.”

“It’s a figure of speech that implies you think I’m a savage!”

“Daniel, on my last visit I distinctly remember you eating some sort of vile pasta product direct from the can with a plastic spoon. You also slept in your clothes.”

“I was twenty-two years old! That’s how long it’s been since you’ve visited.”

“Well, I don’t have a great deal of confidence that things have improved much. You may now eat your food from the pot with a fork, that’s all.”

Dan hated to admit it, but she was right.

“You need some guidance.”

“This is insulting. And I gotta point out that you are the one who brought me up until you left. We never used five forks at our dinner table, Mama. One was good enough for you then. Dad and I were good enough for you then. So was Amarillo. But I guess all that has changed.”

An awkward silence ensued, and Dan was human enough to savor it. She felt guilty. Well, she should.

Her Southern accent came through more than a little as she said, “Danny, I’m sorry. But I don’t know how to fix it now.”

There is no fixing it now. But he didn’t say it aloud. He stared out at the sparse, dry Amarillo landscape, watching the sun set over the parched grass, scrub and mesquite. Unforgiving, this land was. But so beautiful in a rough, raw way. You couldn’t force somebody to appreciate it. They just had to feel it in their bones. And if their bones belonged elsewhere…

Dan sighed. How she could prefer cold and fog and miserable drizzle to the baked heat of Texas, he didn’t know. But he supposed she’d done what she had to do: escape. He’d have to forgive her one day.

“Just do it for Claire. Please, Daniel,” she said. “Her wedding is very important to her.”

“Why didn’t she ask me herself?”

“She was too embarrassed. She was afraid to hurt your feelings.”

Oh, I see. But you have no worries about that…