Heaven, Texas (Chicago Stars #2)(10)

He uncurled from the desk and spoke softly, but with a certain intensity she hadn’t heard in his voice until that moment. “Bobby Tom Denton isn’t afraid of anything, sweetheart. You just remember that.”

“Everybody’s afraid of something.”

“Not me. When you’ve spent the best part of your life facing eleven men hell-bent on pulling your guts out through your nose hairs, things like making movies don’t have much effect.”

“I see. Still, you’re not a football player any longer.”

“Oh, I’ll always be a football player, in one way or another.” For a moment she thought she detected a bleakness in his eyes, an emotion almost like despair. But he’d spoken so matter-of-factly, she decided she’d imagined it. He came around the side of the desk toward her.

“Maybe you’d better get on the phone and tell your boss I’ll be there one of these days soon.”

He had finally made her angry, and she drew herself up to her full five feet, four and three-quarters inches. “What I’m going to tell my boss is that both of us will be flying into San Antonio tomorrow afternoon and then driving on to Telarosa.”

“We are?”

“Yes.” She knew she had to be firm with him from the beginning or he’d take dreadful advantage of her. “Otherwise, you’re going to be in the middle of a very nasty lawsuit.”

He rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger. “I guess you win, sweetheart. What time is our flight?”

She regarded him suspiciously. “Twelve-forty-nine.”

“All right.”

“I’ll pick you up at eleven o’clock.” She was wary of his sudden capitulation, and it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“It might be easier if I met you at the airport.”

“I’ll pick you up here.”

“That’s real nice of you.”

The next thing she knew, Bobby Tom had her by the elbow and was steering her from the study.

He played the perfect host, pointing out a sixteenth century temple gong and a floor sculpture made from petrified wood, but in less than ninety seconds, she was alone on the sidewalk.

Lights blazed from the front windows and music drifted toward her on the scented night air. As she breathed it in, her eyes grew wistful. This was her first wild party and, unless she was very much mistaken, she had just been thrown out.



Gracie was back at Bobby Tom Denton’s house at eight o’clock the next morning. Before she’d left the motel, she’d placed a call to Shady Acres to check on Mrs. Fenner and Mr. Marinetti. As much as she’d needed to escape her life at the nursing home, she still cared about the people she’d left behind three weeks ago, and she was relieved to hear that they were both improving. She’d also called her mother, but Fran Snow had been on the way to her water aerobics class at her Sarasota condominium, and she had no time to talk.

Gracie parked her car on the street, where it was hidden from the house by shrubbery but still afforded her a clear view of the drive. Bobby Tom’s sudden agreeableness last night had made her suspicious, and she wasn’t taking any chances.

She’d spent most of the night alternating between disturbingly erotic dreams and nervous wakefulness. This morning while she showered, she’d been forced to give herself a stern lecture. It wouldn’t do any good to tell herself that Bobby Tom wasn’t the handsomest, sexiest, and most exciting man she’d ever met, because he was. That made it even more important to remember that his blue eyes, lazy charm, and relentless affability hid a dangerous combination of a monstrous ego and a keen mind. She was going to have to stay on her toes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of an antique red Thunderbird convertible backing down the drive. Having anticipated exactly this sort of treachery, she flipped the key in the ignition, pushed hard on the accelerator, and shot forward to block the way with her rental car. After she turned off the engine, she scooped up her purse and got out.

The ignition keys jingled in the pocket of her latest fashion mistake, an oversize mustard-colored wrap dress that she had hoped would look crisp and professional, but merely looked dowdy and middle-aged. The heels of Bobby Tom’s cowboy boots clicked on the drive as he came toward her, the barest hint of a limp in his walk. Nervously, she studied his outfit. His silk shirt, imprinted with purple palm trees, was tucked into a pair of perfectly faded and impeccably frayed jeans that molded to his narrow hips and lean runner’s legs in a manner that made it nearly impossible for her to draw her eyes away from parts of him she’d be better off not looking at.

She braced herself as he tipped his pearl gray Stetson. “Mornin’, Miz Gracie.”

“Good morning,” she said briskly. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early after last night.” Several seconds ticked by as he gazed at her. Although his eyes were half-lidded, she detected an intensity beneath that indolence that made her wary.

“You weren’t supposed to be here till eleven,” he said.

“Yes, well, I’m early.”

“I can see that, and I sure would appreciate it if you’d back your car out of my way.” His lazy drawl was at odds with the faint tightening at the corners of his lips.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I’m here to escort you to Telarosa.”