The aquarium had a nice view of the Houston skyline from a third-floor ballroom lined with glass windows. There was a reception for at least six hundred people, who entered a foyer with a large cylindrical tank, went to a shark-voyage ride, and browsed past exhibits designed to imitate a shipwreck, a sunken temple, a swamp, and a rain forest.

The concerns I had over attending a reception with Hardy were gone within five minutes of arriving. He was relaxed and fun, chatting easily with people, taking me around. As Hardy introduced me to his business partners and their wives, and several other friends, I realized he was far from an outsider in this crowd. Although he hadn't yet become part of the established circles like my family's, he was part of a group who ran the smaller, more nimble companies that were finding new niches to fill.

Hardy and I even knew some of the same people, a few of whom laughingly advised me that he would be a good catch for a woman who could manage to keep him in line. I realized that in his deceptively lazy way, Hardy was working the crowd as adeptly as anyone I had ever seen. He seemed to know everyone's name, and he had the knack of focusing on the person he was talking to as if he or she were the most important person in the room.

At the same time, Hardy was an attentive date, getting me a drink from the bar, keeping a light hand on my back, whispering things to make me laugh. As we stood in a group and talked, he idly straightened a kink on the gold chain of my evening bag as it dangled from my shoulder.

I had wondered how Hardy would treat me when we were with other people, if he would want me to act as his satellite. That was what Nick had always demanded. But to my surprise, Hardy didn't seem to mind me having my own opinions. When the conversation turned to oil shale, for example. One of Hardy's business partners, a geophysicist named Roy Newkirk, was talking enthusiastically about the possibilities of developing shale as an alternative to conventional oil. But I said I'd read that it would be as bad for the environment as open-pit mining. And furthermore, the processing of shale would dump huge amounts of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, which I thought was criminal. Unless one thought that global warming wasn't coming along fast enough.

Roy received my comments with a forced smile. "Hardy, didn't I warn you not to date a woman who reads?"

Hardy seemed amused by my outspokenness. "Keeps the arguing to a minimum," he replied. "No point in trying when I know she's going to win."

"I hope I didn't annoy you," I murmured to Hardy afterward. "I'm sorry I didn't agree with Roy."

"I like a woman who speaks her mind," Hardy replied. "Besides, you were right. Technology is nowhere near where it needs to be, for the extraction to be worth it. As things stand, it's bad for the environment and it's too expensive."

I gave him a speculative glance. "If technology made the process cheaper but it was still bad for the environment, would you go for it?"

"No — " he began, but before he could explain why, we were interrupted by a booming laugh. A heavy hand on my shoulder turned me around.

"Uncle T.J.," I exclaimed. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

T.J. Bolt wasn't really my uncle, but I'd known him since I was born. He was Dad's closest friend, and I suspected he'd always had a crush on my mother. He liked women a little too much, having been married five times. T.J. was one of the more colorful characters in the oil patch.

As a young man in East Texas, T.J. had gotten his start by working at a drilling equipment supplies company. Somehow he'd found the money to buy land and mineral rights for some productive fields, and he'd used the profits to buy more land, and more. He had his fingers in a lot of pies. And he was courted by landmen from every major development company, all eager to negotiate for potentially priceless leases.

I'd never seen T.J. without his signature white beaver-felt hat with five inch brim and six-inch crown. A Western hat of those dimensions would have looked ridiculous on a regular-sized man, but T.J. was a mountain of a human being. He was taller than Hardy, and outweighed him by at least half again. One of his beefy wrists was weighted with a yellow-gold and diamond Rolex. A sausage-sized forefinger sported a gold nugget ring shaped like Texas.

Even as a child I had been subjected to T.J.'s disconcerting habit of kissing females of all ages on the lips. Tonight was no exception. He planted a wrinkly kiss on me, smelling like saddle leather and sweet cologne and La Unica cigars. "What's my favorite girl doing," he boomed, "keeping company with this rascal?"

"Evening, sir," Hardy said with a smile, reaching out to shake his hand.

"You've already met Mr. Cates?" I asked T.J.

"We did some talkin' on my Gregg County property," T.J. allowed. "Couldn't quite settle on terms." He winked at me. "Man's gotta have deep pockets, dealing with me."

"T.J. doesn't want the pockets," Hardy said ruefully. "He wants the whole pair of pants."

The old man chuckled richly. He put a fleshy arm around me and squeezed. He gave Hardy a meaningful glance. "You treat this little girl right," he said. "She was brought up by the greatest lady ever to grace the state of Texas."

"Yes sir, I will."

After T.J. left us in his shambling, gouty stride, I turned to Hardy. "Why couldn't you come to terms with him?"

Hardy shrugged slightly, his smile wry. "It all got hung up on the bonus." Seeing my incomprehension, he explained. "When the landowner signs the lease, he usually gets a bonus from the buyer.