Lies of the Heart (22 page)

“I did?”

“Yep. There may be a way to end the feud without you suffering by pitting you against your granny. That way you don’t have to make a choice. Go back to the beginning of it, where it all started.” He seemed to be speaking his thoughts out loud. “If I could pry that little piece of information from your granny, maybe, just maybe, I can figure out a way to defuse it all.”

“Oh really,” she said, heavy skepticism lacing her words. “And just how in the world do you suppose you can do that, Mr. Deveraux?”

Grinning cockily, his eyes danced with mischief. “Magic, Mrs. Deveraux, isn’t that what you always say? Magic.”

***

“Tell me you know something about playing pool.” Chance had a knot the size of his fist sitting in his belly.

She covered her eyes with her hands and peeked through her fingers. “A little,” she squeaked out.

His heart dropped to his knees. “How little?”

She held up her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “That much.”

He groaned. “Damn, girl, those guys out there will eat you alive.” He paced the small, cramped room.

“I know,” she said, bowing her head. “How close is it to playing pool on the computer?”

“The computer?” He cursed under his breath.

“Well, Sean and I play all the time on his computer. His dad got him a bunch of games and we go at it whenever we have a chance. I’m pretty good, too.”

He looked up at the ceiling, asking, “Why me?”

It was her turn to groan. “I guess that means it’s not close at all.”

“You got it, sunshine.” He blew out a breath, and then knelt down before her. “Why did you issue that challenge anyway?”

Raising her head so her gaze was level with his, he saw the consternation shining there. She lifted a shoulder, and then dropped it. “They made me mad. And on top of granny getting to me tonight, I just went off, I guess.” Her lips trembled as she forced a smile.

His heart tumbled over in his chest. Gently, he rubbed her arms. “You sure know how to jump into the deep end, don’t you?”

An actual grin broke through and she said, “I learned everything I know from you.”

Chance laughed outright at that. “Smartass.”

“Yep, you taught me that, too.”

He shook his head at her, and then pressed his forehead against hers. “Damn, girl, what am I going to do with you? I’ve got sixty or more fired up men out there wanting to see you shoot pool at the end of the night. They’re not going to be happy if you wind up a lousy player.”

She pulled back a few inches to look him square in the eye. “Why shouldn’t they? They’ll win my tip money.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, they want to win, but they want a little fight to go with it.”

“No pushovers allowed, right?”

“Got it in one again.”

She released a breath, the hot air caressing him. He stomped down on a moan. “You could always teach me.”

He reared back, as much from her words as trying to protect himself from succumbing to the sexy lady. “What? In a few practice runs? Hell, woman, you think I’m some kind of miracle worker or something?”

“Well…you did convince granny to let me marry you. If anyone can work miracles it’s you, Chance.”

The way she looked at him had his heart sinking. He was done in for. “All right, but we’re going to plan your escape if they get rowdy, okay?”

***

“Easy now,” Chance breathed in her ear as she clutched the stick in her hands. He was a distraction she couldn’t very well afford. “Let it slide.”

She twisted her head, gazing into his eyes, only inches away. Her breathing grew heavy. She whispered, “Chance Deveraux, if you don’t stop that I’m going to throw you down on top of this table and have my way with you.”

A cocky grin tugged at the corner of his lips and his eyes sparkled. “Oh, really? They’ll just love that.”

Pulling herself out of her trance, she glanced back at the table, well aware of the many male eyes on the exchange. The heavy, suffocating silence seemed to vibrate in the air. They’d crowded around at the start of the game only minutes ago. She’d gone first. Now, she needed to sink that yellow ball in the corner pocket. It was so much easier on the computer screen than in real life.

Reviewing Chance’s many quickly spoken instructions during her practice set, she concentrated on breathing slowly and aiming for her target. She shoved the stick forward. The end connected with the ball, making a cracking sound. She followed the ball’s movement across the green expanse and into the pocket. A chorus of disbelief sang around her, echoing her own sentiments.

“Damn,” Chance muttered. “You did it.”

The tightness in her middle eased a tad as she got into position for the next shot. When she missed, the sighs could be heard around the room.

Nearly an hour later, she still held on. Her opponent’s smirk from earlier was erased and in its place was a pained expression. The older, more experienced man looked at her closely, almost wondering out loud how she could have done so well.

Up again, Tessa had one ball to go and then the eight ball. Howard had only the eight ball to sink. The long stretch pulled at every muscle in her body, but she didn’t even grunt. The men watching would surely snicker if she did. Crack. The moment she released the stick she knew she’d missed. She’d hit too hard and the ball bounced off the edge of the pocket just a hair shy. This time the audience groaned along with her.

The relief on Howard’s face was almost laughable, but she shrugged it off. He took his shot and easily sunk the eight ball. Cheers went up all around. He shook hands with many of the men and they patted him on the back.

Tessa made her way around the table and headed toward him, his back facing her. Someone must have said something; he turned her way. Surprise crossed his features as she stuck out her hand. “Good game, Howard.”

He looked down at her hand, and then up at all the men surrounding him. Gallantly, he shook her hand, smiling at her. “Good game.”

“Hey, how about I buy you a beer?” She smiled at him as indecision chased across his eyes. She shrugged, saying, “My tip jar’s at the bar anyway, so what do you say?”

“Sure. Why not?”

The men clapped and parted the way for Tessa to lead the way. Some patted her shoulder while others acknowledged her gamesmanship. All the while Tessa beamed inwardly. She hadn’t thought she had it in her at all. But, tonight, she proved she could stand up for herself and take a risk at falling on her face in front of her enemies. She’d lost, but felt she’d won something much more important.

At the bar, she lifted her cola in a toast. “To the best dag-gone pool player at Gabe’s.”

The men shouted and went wild at that. The room shook with the noise. In the crowd, Tessa sought, and then found Chance. He was in the back, leaning against the beam between the pool area and the main bar with his arms crossed over his chest and smiling proudly at her. She raised her glass to him in a silent salute.

In turn he bowed slightly, indicating his hats off to her. Warmth rushed through her. She’d won his approval. That meant the world to her. Still looking at him, something shifted inside of her. She sucked in a sharp breath. Dear God, she’d gone and fallen in love with him all over again.

Being in the doghouse always had its disadvantages, sometimes more than others, like now, Chance thought wryly. He’d parked a few yards down the road from Mrs. Warfield’s house on the opposite side of the street. Leaning forward, he turned off the ignition. The sudden silence blanketed him. He shivered at the eerie stillness all around him and the absence of his heater.

Sighing heavily, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, wondering how to launch his attack. It had taken him three days to get this far with the crabby lady; the first day she’d hung up on him when he called her and the second day she refused to open her door when he showed up yesterday. He pulled out his keys from the ignition. The jangle seemed loud in the enclosed cab of his truck. Triumphantly, he singled out a key and held it up to the yellow arch of the street light, the light bouncing off of the shiny new gold. “All’s fair in love and war,” he muttered as a smile tugged at his lips.

He’d sweet-talked Tessa out of the house key and had made a copy of hers. If he was going to get past the barricades Mrs. W. laid out for him then he had to outsmart the old biddy.

Now all he had to do was walk right up to the door and slip the key in the lock. But, as good as it sounded to take the woman by surprise, he held back. Something nagged at him. He just couldn’t put a finger on it, though.

For long moments he checked out the area.
All’s quiet.
“Just like it should be for a Sunday night.” He rested his elbow against the doorframe, and then tapped a finger against his lips. Deep down he realized he’d picked up the habit from his wife whenever she was thinking. He smiled inwardly at that and continued to tick off the normal occurrences on the street.

All the streetlights were on, even the one down the road flickered as usual. Some cars were parked in the darkened driveways of the neighbors. Other homes seemed tucked in tight for the night with, what he assumed, their vehicles in their garages. No toys littered the sidewalks which fit into the picture.

“Hmmm… Something’s just not right.”

He scanned more, looking for any outward sign of anything out of the ordinary. His gaze landed on his grandmother’s house once again. Her kitchen light snapped on. He frowned, wondering if she was all right.

A part of his heart tugged for her, thinking how much she missed his granddad. Oh, she’d kept herself busy since his death, but late at night, like now, he figured that’s when the loneliness hit hardest. A pool of dread settled in the pit of his belly; he realized that would be him in a few months once the terms of the will were fulfilled. “Tessa,” he whispered softly as an ache shot through him.

The porch light flashed on, and then the door opened. His grandmother, bundled up in her winter coat and scarf and holding a paper sack, stepped outside. Chance sat up taller, wondering where in the world she was headed.

It didn’t take long for him to find out. As if she was were being spied on, his grandmother scurried down her yard, stopped at the edge of the road to look both ways, and then hurried on across the road and up to Mrs. Warfield’s front door.

“No way. This can’t be happening.” The stunned wonder in his voice echoed in his ears.

Once she disappeared into the enemy’s house, Chance eased out of his truck, thanking his lucky stars he’d had the great forethought to park far enough away where his grandmother hadn’t been able to spot his truck.

Slowly, he crept along the shadowy street, recalling how many times he’d done this growing up. An idea began to form. He’d sneak in with the key and eavesdrop on the two women. He would surely learn a lot that way, since the two women were usually closed-mouth about most things. Then, when he was ready, he’d announce his presence.

Coming onto the porch, Chance reached out for the screen door. Inch by inch he gingerly eased the door open, letting out a breath when he hadn’t given himself away. Next, he slipped in the door key and slowly twisted it. The click rent the air. He stilled, sweat gathering along the back of his neck.

Straining to listen to the interior sounds, he made out muted voices, but no one coming this way. “Phew,” he muttered, and then nudged the heavy door open by degrees.

A few moments later, he stood in the formal living room. He glanced over at the chairs, recalling how he’d bargained with Granny Warfield for Tessa that night not so long ago. A sly smile crossed his face and he had to hold back a chuckle at besting the old broad. Just as quickly, he remembered, how later on, Tessa had confessed to overhearing the conversation. A dagger sliced through his heart at the memory of hurting her. “Never again, if I can help it,” he whispered in the darkened room.

A night light in the kitchen guided him through the lower rooms and to the stairway, the voices from above getting stronger as he approached. Leaning against one wall, he gazed up to the second landing. Bright light spilled out from what he knew from previous experience was granny’s room.

With his pulse beating a mile a minute, Chance began to climb the stairs, inching along the wall as he went. Their conversation floated down to him, allowing him to pick out a word here and there.

“…such a bother…”

“Thieves…don’t…bring…” He was certain that was Granny Warfield’s sharp words.

“Gabe never…” Chance stilled at the mention of his granddad.

“Hah! Why…”

Damn
, he cursed silently, wishing he could make out the rest of the exchange.

“It was you. Always you.”

“Me? How dare you!”

Getting closer to his destination, Chance could hear more and more of what they were saying. Now, if he could only piece it together and understand it. That would be a different story.

“Stop fussing, Della, I’m fine,” Granny Warfield said.

“It is not, Theresa. You know you always spill something down your front when you eat.”

Scowling, Chance crept within inches of the door, peeking in. His grandmother tucked a napkin into Mrs. W.’s robe, and then settled back in a nearby chair while Granny Warfield sat on the edge of her bed. Between them stood a small table with a plate of food on it.

“Now don’t eat too fast or you’ll get heartburn,” his grandmother said as she watched the other woman lift the fork of mashed potatoes to her mouth.

“You always did make the best potatoes, Della.”

Stunned, Chance stood stark still, trying to absorb all he was hearing and observing. They obviously knew each other well sometime in their lifetimes if they spoke of certain habits and having tasted Gran’s cooking before. But when?

As Mrs. W. continued to eat the roast beef meal his gran had brought, his mind whirled with this new knowledge. They’d known, really known, each other.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time, old gal.”

His grandmother gleamed at the praise. “I always was a good cook. Now you, Theresa, you needed a lot of help.”