Heaven, Texas (6 page)

“I know you want to get rid of me, but I'd appreciate it very much if you didn't do it here.”

“You don't have a thing to worry about, sweetheart. As long as you don't irritate me.”

While she was absorbing that worrisome piece of information, a heavily made-up brunette in a turquoise Spandex skirt and tight-fitting white tank top hurled herself into his arms.

“Bobby Tom!”

“Hey there, Trish.”

He bent down to give her a kiss. The moment his lips brushed hers, she opened her mouth and sucked like a vacuum cleaner, drawing in his tongue as if it were a month's worth of carpet lint. He pulled away first and gave her that bone-melting grin he bestowed on every woman who came near him.

“I swear, Trish, you get more beautiful with every divorce; Shag here yet?”

“Over in the corner with AJ. and Wayne. I got hold of Pete, too, just like you asked me to when you called.”

“Good girl. Hey there, guys.”

Three men sitting around a rectangular table in the far corner of the bar shouted out noisy welcomes. Two of them were black, one white, and all three of them were built like Humvees. Gracie trailed after Bobby Tom as he went over to greet them.

The men shook hands and traded friendly insults laced with some incomprehensible sports talk before Bobby Tom remembered she was there.

“This is Gracie. She's my bodyguard.”

All three men regarded her curiously. The one Bobby Tom had addressed as Shag, who seemed to have been a former teammate, pointed at her with his beer bottle.

“What do you need a bodyguard for, B.T.? Did you knock somebody else up?”

“Nothing like that. She's with the CIA.”

“No kidding.”

“I'm not with the CIA,” Gracie protested. “And I'm not really his bodyguard. He just says that to—”

“Bobby Tom, is that you? B.T.'s here, girls!”

“Hey there, Ellie.”

A blond sexpot in gold metallic jeans snaked her arms around his waist. Three more women materialized from the other side of the bar. The man called A.J. pulled another table over, and, without quite knowing how it happened, Gracie found herself occupying a chair between Bobby Tom and Ellie. She could see that Ellie resented the fact that she wasn't the one seated next to Bobby Tom, but when Gracie tried to change positions, she felt a strong hand clamping down on her thigh.

As the conversation swirled around her, Gracie tried to figure out what Bobby Tom was up to. Although every piece of evidence indicated the opposite, she had the sense that he wasn't enjoying himself nearly as much as he pretended to. Why had he driven so far out of his way to come here if he didn't want to be with these people? He must be even more reluctant than she'd imagined to return to his hometown, and he was deliberately prolonging the trip.

Someone thrust a beer bottle at her, and she was so distracted by a depressing picture of herself sitting gray-haired and stoop-shouldered on the front porch at Shady Acres that she took a sip before she remembered she didn't drink. Setting the bottle aside, she glanced at a clock advertising Jim Beam. In half an hour, she would tell Bobby Tom they had to leave.

The waitress appeared, and Bobby Tom insisted on ordering for her, telling her she hadn't lived until she'd tried Whoppers' bacon triple cheese jalapeno hamburger with a double order of jumbo deep-fried onion rings and a mountain of sour cream cole slaw. As he forced the cholesterol-laden food on her, she noticed that he ate and drank very little himself.

An hour passed. He signed autographs, paid for everything anyone ordered, and, unless she had misunderstood, loaned someone money for a jet ski. She ducked beneath the brim of his Stetson and whispered, “We have to go.”

He turned to her and spoke softly, pleasantly. “One more word out of you, sweetheart, and I'm personally calling the taxi that's gonna deliver you to the airport.” With that, he headed over to the pool table in the corner.

Another hour passed. If she hadn't been so worried about the time, she would have been thrilled by the novelty of being in a seedy bar with so many colorful people. Since she was too plain to be of romantic interest to Bobby Tom, the other women didn't regard her as a threat. She enjoyed a lengthy conversation with several of them including Ellie, a flight attendant, who turned out to be a fount of information on the male sex. And sex in general.

She noticed Bobby Tom giving her several covert glances, and she grew increasingly convinced that he planned to slip out when she wasn't looking. Although she very much needed to use the rest room, she was afraid to let him out of her sight, so she crossed her legs instead. By midnight, however, she knew she couldn't postpone the trip a moment longer. Waiting until he and Trish were deeply engrossed in a conversation at the bar, she made her way to the rest room.

The first flutters of panic settled in her stomach as she emerged a few minutes later and couldn't find him. Skimming her eyes over the crowd, she searched frantically for his gray Stetson, but didn't see it anywhere. She began making her way through the crowd to the bar, her stomach churning with anxiety. Just as she was about to acknowledge the fact that he'd gotten away, she spotted him standing with Trish in a shallow alcove next to the cigarette machine.

She had learned her lesson and had no intention of letting him get too far away from her again. Easing around the partition that divided the alcove from the front entryway, she wedged herself into a small space next to the wall phone. As she examined the telephone numbers and studied the graffiti written on the wall, she realized there was a slight echo effect. Although she hadn't intended to eavesdrop, she had no difficulty hearing that familiar Texas drawl.

“You're about the most understanding woman I ever met in my life, Trish.”

“I'm glad you trust me enough to confide in me like this, B.T. I know how hard it is for a man like you to talk about your past.”

“Some women I don't mind leading on, but you're a real sweet lady, Trish, and I couldn't do that to you, especially not when you're still vulnerable from your last divorce.”

“I guess all of us have wondered why you never got married.”

“Now you know, honey.”

This was clearly a private conversation and Gracie knew she should find a more distant vantage point. Firmly repressing her curiosity, she began to step away only to pause as Trish spoke again.

“Nobody should have to grow up with a mother who's a— Well, a mother like that.”

“You can say it, Trish. My mother was a hooker.”

Gracie's eyes widened.

Trish's sultry voice was filled with sympathy. “You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

Bobby Tom sighed. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things. You might not understand this, but the worst wasn't having her bring men home at night or not even knowing who my father was. The worst was having her show up at my high school games all drunk with her makeup smeared. She'd be wearing rhinestone earrings and pants so tight everybody could see she didn't have anything on under them. Nobody else wore high heels to Friday night games, but my mother did. She was the trashiest woman in Telarosa, Texas.”

“What happened to her?”

“She's still there. Still, smoking cigarettes, drinking whiskey, and turning tricks whenever the mood hits her. No matter how much money I give her, it doesn't make any difference. Once a hooker, always a hooker, I guess. But she's my mother, and I love her.”

Gracie was touched by his loyalty. At the same time, she felt a deep anger toward the woman who had so dreadfully abused her maternal responsibilities. Maybe his mother's unsavory lifestyle explained his reluctance to return to Telarosa.

It had grown quiet in the alcove, and she risked peeking around the corner only to wish she'd stayed put. Trish had wrapped herself around Bobby Tom like a fallen awning. As the beautiful, dark-haired woman kissed him, everything inside Gracie went soft and weak. Despite the fact that she knew she was wishing for the stars, she wanted to be the one pressed against that strong, hard body. She wanted to be the type of woman who felt free to soul kiss Bobby Tom Denton.

She leaned against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut, fighting a rush of yearning both poignant and painful. Would a man ever kiss her like that?

Not any man,
her devil whispered.
A Texas playboy with a wicked reputation.

She took a deep breath and told herself not to be foolish. There was no sense crying for the moon when good solid earth was the best she could ever hope for.

“Trish? Where is that bitch?”

Her reverie came to an abrupt end at the sound of a belligerent, drunken voice, and she saw a burly, dark-haired man descending on Bobby Tom and Trish from the entrance to the bar.

Trish's eyes widened with alarm. Bobby Tom quickly stepped forward, shielding her behind him. “Damn, Warren, I thought you died from rabies a long time ago.”

Warren puffed up his barrel chest and swaggered forward. “If it isn't Mr. Pretty Boy. Sucked any cocks lately?”

Gracie gasped, but Bobby Tom just grinned. “I sure haven't, Warren, but if anybody asks me to, I'll send them right over to you first thing.”

Warren obviously didn't appreciate Bobby Tom's sense of humor. With a menacing growl, he took a drunken lurch forward.

Trish drew her knuckles to her mouth. “Don't make him mad, B.T.”

“Aw, honey, Warren won't get mad. He's too dumb to know when he's been insulted.”

“I'm gonna take your head off, pretty boy.”

“You're drunk, Warren!” Trish exclaimed. “Please go away.”

“Shut up, you fucking whore!”

Bobby Tom sighed. “Now why'd you have to go and call your ex-wife something evil like that?” With a motion so fast that Gracie almost missed it, he drew back his fist and hit Warren in the jaw.

Trish's ex-husband sprawled to the floor with a howl of pain, and the crowd at the bar immediately circled the ,two men, temporarily shutting off Gracie's view. She elbowed her way between several of the women. By the time she got to the front, Warren had scrambled to his feet, one hand to his jaw.

Bobby Tom stood with his hands lightly splayed on his hips. “I sure wish you were sober, Warren, so we could make this more interesting.”

“I'm
sober, Denton.” A surly Neanderthal who could have been Warren's womb mate lumbered forward. “What happened against the Raiders last year, pussy? You played like shit. Were you having your period?”

Bobby Tom looked as delighted as if someone had just given him a Christmas present. “Now this is getting interesting.”

To Gracie's relief, Bobby Tom's friend Shag took a step into the center of the circle, pushing up his sleeves at the same time. “Two against one, B.T. I don't like the odds.”

Bobby Tom waved him away. “No need to get your hair messed up, Shag. These boys are looking for a little exercise, and so am I.”

The Neanderthal swung. Bobby Tom's reflexes didn't seem to have been affected by his bad knee. He ducked and caught his opponent in the ribs with his fist. The man doubled over, just as Warren pitched forward and drove his shoulder into Bobby Tom's side.

Bobby Tom staggered, righted himself, and delivered a hard punch to the abdomen that sent Trish's ex to the floor. He showed no inclination to get back up.

The Neanderthal hadn't had as much to drink, so he lasted a little longer. He even managed to connect with a few punches, but in the end he couldn't overcome Bobby Tom's lethal quickness. Finally he'd had enough. Bleeding from the nose and muttering under his breath, he staggered toward the exit.

Bobby Tom's forehead crumpled in disappointment. He looked around at the crowd, a vaguely wistful expression on his face, but no other challengers stepped forward. He picked up a cocktail napkin, pressed it to the small cut at the side of his mouth, and leaned down to murmur something in Warren's ear. The man turned even paler, leading Gracie to conclude that Trish wouldn't be having any more trouble with her ex-husband. After he'd set Warren straight, Bobby Tom looped his arm around Trish and led her over to the jukebox.

Gracie breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wouldn't have to phone Willow with the news that she'd lost their star in a barroom brawl.

Two hours later, she and Bobby Tom stood at the desk of a luxury hotel located twenty minutes away.

“I hope you know I'm not used to turning in this early,” he grumbled.

“It's two o'clock in the morning.” Gracie had lived most of her life going to bed at ten so she could get up at five, and she was light-headed with weariness.

“That's what I'm telling you. It's still early.” He finished registering for the suite he had requested, and, waving away the bellman, slipped the strap of his bag over his shoulder while he picked up the laptop computer he'd set on the desk. “See you in the morning, Gracie.” He set off toward the elevators.

The desk clerk looked at her expectantly. “May I help you?”

Blushing to the roots of her hair, she stammered, “I'm, uh, with him.”

She picked up her own suitcase and hurried after him, feeling like a cocker spaniel trailing its master. She slid inside the elevator just as the door was gliding shut.

He regarded her suspiciously. “You'registered already?”

“Since you—uh—requested a suite, I thought I'd sleep on the couch.”

“You thought wrong.”

“I promise that you won't even notice I'm there.”

“Get your own room, Miz Gracie.” He spoke softly, but the veiled threat in his eyes discomposed her.

“You know I can't do that. The minute I leave you alone, you'll drive off without me.”

“You don't know that for a fact.” The doors slid open and he stepped out into the carpeted hallway.

She hurried after him. “I won't bother you.”

He looked at the door numbers. “Gracie, pardon me for saying this, but you're getting to be a real pain in the butt.”

“I know that, and I apologize.”

A smile flickered across his face and disappeared as he stopped in front of the door at the end of the hallway and slid the magnetic key into the lock. It blinked green, and he pushed on the handle. Before he stepped inside, he leaned down and brushed a swift kiss over her lips. “It's been nice knowing you.”