Fancy Pants (Wynette, Texas #1)(136)

He put down his fork and shook his head. “I went over to her mother's house, but she ducked out the back door when she saw me coming.” Pushing away his plate, he took a sip of water.

He looked so miserable that Francesca was torn between the desire to comfort him and the urge to smack some sense into him. Gerry and Holly Grace obviously loved each other, and she wished they would stop camouflaging their problems. Although Holly Grace hardly ever talked about it, Francesca knew how badly she wanted a child, but Gerry wouldn't even discuss the matter with her.

“Why don't the two of you try to come up with some sort of compromise?” she offered tentatively.

“She doesn't understand the word,” Gerry replied. “She's got it in her head that I've been using her name, and—”

Francesca groaned. “Not this again. Holly Grace wants a baby, Gerry. Why won't either of you admit what the real problem is? I know it's none of my business, but I think you'd make a wonderful father, and—”

“Christ, have you and Naomi been taking nagging lessons together or what?” He abruptly pushed his plate away. “Let's go on over to the Roustabout, okay?”

The Roustabout was the last place she wanted to go. “I don't really—”

“The high school sweethearts are sure to be there. We'll walk in, pretend we don't see them, and then have sex on top of the bar. What do you say?”

“I say no.”

“Come on, gorgeous. The two of them have been tossing a ton of shit our way. Let's toss a little back.”

True to form, Gerry ignored every one of her protests and hustled her from the restaurant. Fifteen minutes later, they were walking through the door of the honky-tonk. The place looked much as Francesca remembered, although most of the neon Lone Star beer signs had been replaced with signs for Miller Lite, and video games now occupied one corner. The people were the same, however.

“Well, look who just walked through the door,” a throaty female voice drawled from a table twenty feet to their right. “If it isn't the queen of England herself with the king of the Bolsheviks walking right next to her.” Holly Grace sat with a beer bottle in front of her, while at her side Dallie sipped a glass of club soda. Francesca felt another of those queer little jumps in her middle at the sight of those cool blue eyes studying her over the rim of the glass.

“No, I'm wrong,” Holly Grace went on as she took in the black and ivory print Galanos dress Francesca was wearing with an oversize cinnabar red jacket. “She's not the queen of England. She's that lady mud wrestler we saw down in Medina County.”

Francesca grabbed Gerry's arm. “Let's go.”

Gerry's full lips were growing thinner by the minute, but he refused to move. Holly Grace tilted back the brim of her Stetson, studiously ignoring him while she scrutinized Francesca's outfit. “Galanos in the Roustabout. Shit. You're liable to get us all kicked out. Don't you get tired always being the center of attention?”

Francesca forgot about Gerry and Dallie and looked at Holly Grace with genuine concern. She really was acting bitchy. Letting go of Gerry's arm, she walked over to her and slipped into the chair at her side. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Holly Grace scowled into her beer glass, but otherwise remained silent.

“Let's go to the bathroom so we can talk,” Francesca whispered, and when Holly Grace didn't respond, she added more forcefully, “Right now.”

Holly Grace gave her a rebellious look that resembled Teddy at his worst. “I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm still mad at you for not telling me the truth about Teddy.” She turned to Dallie. “Dance with me, baby.”

Dallie had been regarding them both with interest. Now he unwound himself from his chair and looped his arm over Holly Grace's shoulders as she stood up. “Sure, honey.”

The two of them began to walk away, but Gerry took a step forward, blocking their path. “Isn't it interesting the way they grab on to each other?” he said to Francesca. “It's the most fascinating case of arrested development I've ever seen.”

“You go ahead and dance, Holly Grace,” Francesca said quietly, “but while you're doing it, think about the fact that I might need you right now just as much as Dallie does.”

For a moment Holly Grace hesitated, but then she turned into Dallie's arms and together they moved out onto the dance floor.

At that moment, one of the patrons of the Roustabout came up to ask Francesca for her autograph, and before long she was surrounded by fans. She chatted with them while inwardly she was filled with frustration. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gerry talking to a buxom young thing at the bar. Holly Grace danced past with Dallie, the two of them moving together like one single, graceful body, their casual intimacy so absolute they seemed to shut out the rest of the world. Her cheeks began to ache from smiling. She signed more autographs and acknowledged more compliments, but the patrons of the Roustabout refused to let her go. They were accustomed to having the star of “China Colt” in their midst, but seeing the glamorous Francesca Day was something else entirely. It wasn't long before she spotted Holly Grace slipping out the back door by herself. A hand touched her from behind.

“Sorry, folks, but Francie promised me this dance. You still remember the two-step, honey?”