Lone Star by Josh Lanyon Page A

Mexican mob. Or eatin’ this heart attack in a bowl of Mama’s. Same for all of us. Take you last night. It’s a damn—” his gaze slid to his mother, “—danged miracle you’re sittin’ at this table right now.”
    Somehow it didn’t make Mitch feel any better.
    The conversation moved into less controversial channels. The champagne bottle disappeared to be replaced by a bottle of Texas white. Mitch made halfhearted objections to having his glass refilled, but the champagne had unbent him considerably. He felt relaxed and mellow and a little sentimental. Plus it turned out he liked plain wine a lot more than champagne. Not that he was going to make a habit of this, but it was kind of a special occasion, wasn’t it?
    “Gordon’s teachin’ us all about wine. He’s some kind of wine connoisseur,” Aunt Mamie said, and Mitch couldn’t tell from her tone whether that was a compliment to Gordon or not. And neither, he suspected, could Gordon.
    He raised his gaze from his glass to find Web staring at him. Mitch felt his face warm at the directness of that look. What was going on in Web’s mind? Because in any other part of the country that look meant…
    Mitch reached for his glass and took a long swallow.
    That was the problem with this kind of thing. It was too easy to fall into old patterns. The evening should have felt like any dinner with old friends you no longer had much in common with. Not a homecoming. But the Eisleys were so warm and welcoming and Web was so much the old Web, and before long Mitch was going to start wondering whether he could be happy back in Llano.
    “I guess you’ve been all over the world?” Allie asked enviously, interrupting his reflections.
    “A few places.”
    “Like where?”
    “London, Tokyo, Leningrad, Paris.” Mitch shrugged. “It’s work, though. It’s not like going on a vacation. We rehearse seven hours a day and then we perform at night. I’ve been to a lot of places, but I haven’t seen a lot of the places I’ve been to.” He wasn’t that crazy about traveling, to be honest. It had been exciting at first, but it got tiring living out of a suitcase, always being on the move.
    “I sure would like to see you dance,” Mrs. Eisley said. “Are you coming to Texas anytime again soon?”
    “Not that I know of.” He was apologetic. Mrs. Eisley was so nice he hated to disappoint her in any way.
    “Web’s seen you dance,” Allie put in.
    Mitch nearly choked on his drink. A quick look at Web showed him preoccupied with chasing down every bean in his tree bean salad. His face was red. Or maybe that was the lighting.
    “That’s right.” Aunt Mamie helped herself to more potatoes. “We couldn’t go. It was the Black Tie and Boots Inaugural Ball, but Web went. You were performin’ in Austin as I recall.”
    “ The Dream .” Mitch was fascinated by Web’s expression. Web was looking everywhere but at him.
    “We’ve got two choices for dessert.” Mrs. Eisley interrupted his thoughts. “Aunt Mamie baked her world-famous pecan pie but Web remembered that you always liked ice cream best. So we’ve got strawberry ice cream with guajillo chile and lime.”
    Dessert was served but Mitch had no idea if he ate pecan pie or homemade ice cream or one of the china plates. The conversation continued and more wine was drunk, but all he could think about was the fact that Web had come to Austin to see him dance—and he’d never known a thing about it.
    Why?
    Why had Web done that? And why hadn’t Web let Mitch know? It didn’t make any sense. Or was that the wine befuddling his thoughts? No, there wasn’t enough wine in the world to explain—or not explain—
    Well, okay. Maybe he had had a little too much to drink.
    Which didn’t change the fact that Web had come to see him in Austin.
    And that meant something. It had to mean something. But what?
    At last the evening was over and it was time for goodbyes, which was all Mitch had been thinking about for the last