He tossed the half-eaten pastry to Marianne and dusted his sticky fingers against this thigh. The bullmastiff snarfed it up with a smack of her lips, and then eyed him to see if more was forthcoming. When she realized it wasn’t, she settled back down on her plush pillow. “Dammit, Marianne,” he complained. “This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. You should see what that foolish Henderson girl did to our billboard.” The dog made a huffing noise and covered her nose with her paws. “I know!” Kelvin pushed himself up out of his chair and paced the generous length of the study that had been his daddy’s and his granddaddy’s and his great-granddaddy’s before that. Three generations of Wentworths had been born and raised in this house. All their portraits and photographs of their accomplishments hung on the wall. There was Great-Granddaddy, Kelvin Wentworth I, covered in crude oil and grinning like an opossum as his first well came in. Next was a snapshot of Granddaddy Kelvin Wentworth II breaking ground on Wentworth Novelties.
