Ten minutes. Ten minutes was all he needed to show Currin who was boss.
Sterling stared down at the hands clutching the edges of the podium, ignoring the thought that his fists were no longer as big, his arms no longer as powerful as they had been a quarter century ago. But man, how he regretted not taking Ryder behind the barn and whipping the crap into him. Just seeing his insolent face, hearing his name hurtled him back to the past, to when he wasn’t Sterling Perry the power broker but Harrington’s lackey, the foreman of his ranch. Ryder reminded him of a time when his father-in-law’s word was law, when he had no say in anything to do with his future or the ranch. He took orders back then, he didn’t give them.
And he’d been the ranch cuckold, as useless as a steer. He’d never had a happy marriage to Tamara—they’d married to consolidate power and wealth—but he’d been proud of his beautiful wife. She was an exquisite woman but they’d never clicked, mentally or physically. He hadn’t loved her but he couldn’t allow her to be in love with anyone else, either, especially not Ryder Currin, a damned ranch hand. How dare he think he could lay a hand on a Perry, on any piece of his property? He still woke up from nightmares depicting Ryder and his wife rutting, hearing their laughter as they disparaged him. And the fact that Ryder had blackmailed Harrington into handing him land—oil-rich land that had made him a freakin’ fortune—still burned like acid in his throat. He couldn’t stand it then and he couldn’t stand Ryder now. And if the rumors about Currin and Angela seeing each other turned out to be true, God help him...
Sterling heard a throat clear and came back to the present, looking out at the curious eyes trained on him. Dammit, the room would think he was a doddery old man, something he couldn’t afford to happen. Once a thought like that took hold, the members of the TCC would start thinking that Currin was a better, younger, more energetic leader and they’d vote for him as president of the Houston TCC. That couldn’t happen. He was Sterling Perry. Nobody would run this organization but him.
Sterling released his grip on the podium and cracked a joke. When he got the required laughs, he relaxed. These were his people, his tribe. He knew exactly how to handle them.
“Thank you for giving up your valuable time to attend this first meeting of the Houston Texas Cattleman’s Club.”
“Can’t be a meeting if there’s no board yet, Sterling.”
Shut up, Ryder. Sterling forced himself to smile at Currin’s quip but chose not to address the interruption. If he ignored Ryder, maybe others would, too. “We do have TCC business to discuss, but before that happens, I’d like to take this opportunity to make a personal statement.”
He saw the room come to attention, felt the tension increase. Good, he had them eating out of the palm of his hand. “I would like to make it clear to all—” he deliberately moved his eyes to look directly at Ryder “—potential board members and members of the soon-to-be-constituted TCC that neither myself nor any member of Perry Construction, or our holding company, had anything to do with the unfortunate murder at the construction site.”
Sterling held up his hand to quiet the room when murmurs resounded. When he had their full attention once more, he spoke again. “I have also, with the full support of my family, decided that Perry Holdings will bear the cost of restoring the construction site to its preflood condition. We estimate it will cost a few million but we’ll cover the bill.”
His words, when they sank in, raised a roar of approval and thunderous applause. There was nothing Texans liked more than not having to put their hands into their own pockets. Sterling couldn’t help his eyes drifting to Ryder Currin. He immediately noticed that Ryder’s arms were still crossed against his chest. His expression asked what his lips did not: “What the hell are you up to?”
The applause lasted for a minute, maybe two, but Ryder didn’t bother to put his hands together. The rat bastard.
* * *
Much later than he anticipated, Cam walked into his house, looked at his watch and winced. He’d missed Clem’s bath time and she would be fast asleep by now. Dropping his phone and laptop bag in the hallway, he pulled down his tie and walked toward the kitchen, frowning when he saw it was in darkness. Only the small informal sitting room that he and Vivi usually retreated to after they put Clem to bed had light.