Heaven, Texas (Chicago Stars #2)(14)

“A couple of hours. Maybe as far as the state line. The minute you start to aggravate me, I’m dropping you off at the nearest airport.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“Don’t bet on it.”





3




Bobby Tom drove the freeways of the Windy City as if he owned them. He was king of the town, mayor of the world, top cat of the universe. As the radio blasted out Aerosmith, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, keeping time to “Janie’s Got a Gun.”

In his red Thunderbird convertible and pearl gray Stetson, he was highly conspicuous. To Gracie’s amazement, drivers began pulling alongside the car, their horns blowing, windows lowered to call out to him. He waved and drove on.

She could feel her skin flush from the hot wind and the sheer delight of speeding down a big-city freeway in a vintage red Thunderbird with a man who wasn’t respectable. Strands of hair escaped from her lumpy french twist and whipped her cheeks. She wished she had a hot pink designer scarf to wrap around her head, a pair of trendy sunglasses to slip on her nose, a tube of scarlet lipstick to slide over her lips. She wanted big, full breasts, a tight dress, a sexy pair of high heels. She wanted a gold ankle bracelet.

And, perhaps, a very discreet heart-shaped tattoo.

She played with this enticing vision of herself as a wild woman while Bobby Tom placed and received calls on the car phone she’d noticed earlier. Sometimes he used the phone’s speaker feature; other times he held the receiver to his ear and spoke privately. His outgoing calls seemed to involve various business deals and their tax effects, as well as charity functions he was involved in. Most of his incoming calls, she was interested to note, seemed to come from acquaintances hitting him up for money. Although he conducted these calls with the phone to his ear, she received the distinct impression that, in every case, he ended up offering more money than had been requested. After less than an hour in his presence, she’d already figured out that Bobby Tom Denton was an easy mark.

As they reached the outskirts of the city, he placed a call to someone named Gail and spoke to her in that lazy drawl that sent shivers up Gracie’s all-too-receptive spine.

“I just wanted you to know I’m missin’ you so bad I got tears in my eyes this very minute.”

He raised his arm to wave at a woman in a blue Firebird who whizzed by blowing her horn. Gracie, a very safe driver herself, grabbed the door handle as she realized he was steering the car with his knee.

“Yeah, that’s right…I know, sweetheart, I wish we could have made it, too. The rodeo doesn’t come to Chicago nearly often enough.” He draped his fingers over the top of the wheel, while he tucked the receiver farther into the crook of his neck. “You don’t say. Well, now, you give her my best, y’hear? Kitty and I had some real good times together a couple months back. She even took the quiz, but she hadn’t studied up near enough on the ‘89 Super Bowl to pass. I’ll call you as soon as I can, darlin’.”

As he replaced the phone, she regarded him curiously. “Don’t all your girlfriends get jealous of each other?”

“‘Course not. I only date nice ladies.”

And treat every one of them like a queen, she suspected. Even the pregnant ones.

“The National Organization of Women should seriously consider putting out a contract on you.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “On me? I love women. More than I like a lot of men, as a matter of fact. I’m pretty much a card carryin’ feminist.”

“Don’t let Gloria Steinem hear you say that.”

“Why not? She’s the one who gave me the card.”

Gracie’s eyes flew open.

He flashed a wicked smile. “Gloria is one nice lady, I’m tellin’ you that.”

She knew right then that she couldn’t afford to lose her concentration around him, not even for a moment.

As the suburbs of Chicago gave way to flat, Illinois farmland, she asked if she could use his phone to call Willow Craig, assuring him that she would pay for the call with her new business credit card. That seemed to amuse him.

Windmill had set up its headquarters at the Cattleman’s Hotel in Telarosa, and as soon as she was connected with her employer, she began to explain the problem. “I’m afraid Bobby Tom is insisting on driving to Telarosa instead of flying.”

“Talk him out of it,” Willow replied in her brisk, no-nonsense voice.

“I did my best. Unfortunately, he wasn’t listening. We’re on the road now, just south of Chicago.”

“I was afraid of this.” Several seconds slipped by, and Gracie could picture her sophisticated employer toying with one of the large earrings she always wore. “He has to be here by eight o’clock Monday morning. Do you understand?”

Gracie eyed Bobby Tom. “It may not be that easy.”

“That’s why I chose you to go after him. You’re supposed to be able to handle difficult people. We have a fortune tied up in this film, Gracie, and we can’t afford any more delays. Even people who aren’t sports fans know Bobby Tom Denton, and we’re getting a huge amount of publicity out of signing him for his first film.”

“I understand.”

“He’s slippery. It took us months to negotiate this contract, and I want this picture made! I’m not going to see the studio bankrupt just because you don’t know how to do your job.”