Best Kept Secrets(43)

as close to him as the barstool would allow and threw her

arm across his shoulders. "Poor Reede. It must get awful

lonesome riding around by yourself all the time."

"I'm working when I'm riding around."



"I know, but still ..." Her breath fanned his ear. It

smelled like beer. "It's no wonder you frown so much." A





sharp fingernail plowed the deep furrow between his eyebrows.

He jerked his head back, away from her touch. She

snatched her hand back and uttered a soft, wounded sound.

"Look, I'm sorry," he muttered. "My mood's as bad as

the weather. It's been a long day. Guess I'm just tired."

Rather than putting her off, that encouraged her. "Maybe

I could cheer you up, Reede," she said with a timorous smile.

"Anyway, I'd sure like to try." Again she moved close,

sandwiching his upper arm between her cushiony breasts.

"I've had the wildest crush on you since I was in seventh

grade. Don't make out like you didn't know," she said with

a scolding pout.

"No, I didn't know that."

"Well, I did. But you were taken then. What was that

girl's name? The one that loony killed in the stable?"

"Celina."

"Yeah. You were real gone on her, weren't you? By the

time I got to high school, you were at Texas Tech. Then I

got married and started having kids." She didn't notice that

he wasn't interested in her chatter. " 'Course, the husband's

long gone, and the kids are old enough now to take care of

themselves. I guess there never was much chance for you to

know I had a crush on you, was there?"

"I guess not."

She leaned so far forward, her perch on the stool became

precarious. "Maybe it's time you did, Reede."

He glanced down at her breasts, which were making teasing,

brushing contact with his arm. As a result, her nipples

made hard, distinct impressions against her T-shirt. Somehow,

the blatancy wasn't as enticing as Alex's innocent, bare

toes peeking out from beneath her white terry-cloth bathrobe.

Knowing that there was nothing but Gloria under the black

T-shirt didn't excite him as much as wondering what, if

anything, was under Alex's white robe.

He wasn't aroused, not even a little. He wondered why.



Gloria was pretty enough. Black hair curled around her

face and emphasized dark eyes that were now lambent with

invitation and promise. Her lips were parted and wet, but he

wasn't sure he could kiss them without sliding off. They were

coated with cherry-red lipstick. Involuntarily, he compared

them to lips free of makeup, but still pink and moist, kissable

and sexy, without making any attempt to be.

"I gotta be going," he said suddenly. He unhooked his

boot heels from the rungs of the stool and came to his feet,

fishing in the pocket of his jeans for enough bills to cover

the price of his drinks and her beer.

"But, I thought--"

"Better get back to your group, or you're liable to miss

the party."

The wild well control boys had ventured toward the

women, who were making no secret of being on the prowl

and out for a good time. The merging of the two groups had

been as inevitable as a hard freeze by morning. The delay

had been calculated to build the anticipation. Now, however,

sexual innuendos were being swapped at a rate to match the

stock exchange on a busy day.

"Nice seeing you, Gloria."

Reede pulled his hat down low over his brows and left,

but not before catching her wounded expression. Alex's face

had held that same devastated, disbelieving expression when

he had told her that her mother's body had been cremated.

Seconds after he had uttered the words, she recoiled against

the wall, clutching the lapels of her robe to her throat as if

she was warding off something evil. "Cremated?"

"That's right." He watched her face turn pale, and her

eyes turn glassy.

"I didn't know. Grandma never said. I never thought. . ."

Her voice dwindled into nothingness. He remained silent

and unmoving, figuring that she needed time to digest that

sobering piece of information.

He had mentally cursed Joe Wallace for dumping such a

rotten task on him. The goddamn coward had called him, fit



to be tied, whining and carrying on, asking what he should

tell her. When Reede suggested that Alex be told the truth,

the judge had interpreted it as volunteering and had been all

too willing to abdicate the responsibility.

Alex's numbness hadn't lasted long. Her senses returned

abruptly, as though she'd been jarred into consciousness by

a thought. "Did Judge Wallace know?"

Reede remembered shrugging with feigned indifference.