Heaven, Texas (Chicago Stars #2)(16)

“Wait a minute, B.T. We haven’t talked about—”

Bobby Tom disconnected the call. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his seat.

Gracie had been absorbing every word, and she was brimming with curiosity, but she didn’t want to irritate him, so she bit her tongue.

Bobby Tom turned and looked at her. “Go ahead. Ask me how I managed to stay sane growing up around crazy people.”

“He seemed quite…enthusiastic.”

“He’s a fool, is what he is. The mayor of Telarosa, Texas, is a certifiable fool. This whole Heavenfest thing has gotten completely out of hand.”

“What exactly is Heavenfest?”

“It’s a three day celebration they’re planning to hold in October, part of a harebrained scheme to bring economic prosperity back to Telarosa by attracting tourists. They’ve spruced up the downtown, added a Western art gallery and a couple of restaurants. There’s a decent golf course, a dude ranch, and a mediocre hotel, but that’s about it.”

“You forgot to mention the Bobby Tom Denton Birthplace.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“It does seem rather desperate.”

“It’s insane. I think people in Telarosa have gotten so scared about holding on to their jobs it’s scrambled their brains.”

“Why are they calling it Heavenfest?”

“Heaven was the town’s original name.”

“Church groups seemed to have had a strong influence in founding some of the early Western towns.”

Bobby Tom chuckled. “The cowboys named it Heaven because it had the best whorehouses between San Antone and Austin. It wasn’t until the turn of the century that the town’s more respectable citizens got the place renamed Telarosa.”

“I see.” Gracie had a dozen more questions, but she sensed that he wasn’t in the mood for further conversation, and since she didn’t want to irritate him, she fell silent. It occurred to her that being a celebrity had its drawbacks. If this morning was any indication, an awful lot of people seemed to want a piece of Bobby Tom Denton.

The phone buzzed. Bobby Tom sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Gracie, you mind answering that for me and telling whoever’s calling that I’m on the golf course.”

Gracie didn’t believe in lying, but he looked so worn out that she did as he asked.



Seven hours later, Gracie found herself staring with dismay at the peeling red door of a seedy Memphis bar named Whoppers. “We drove hundreds of miles out of our way to come here?”

“It’ll be an education for you, Miz Gracie. You ever been in a bar before?”

“Of course I’ve been in a bar.” She saw no need to tell him that it had been attached to a respectable restaurant. This bar featured a neon beer sign with a broken M flickering listlessly in the dirty window, and a front sidewalk littered with trash. Since he had already kept her with him longer than she’d expected, she didn’t want to antagonize him further, but neither could she abandon her responsibility.

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for this.”

“Gracie, sweetheart, you’re gonna have a heart attack before you’re forty if you don’t learn to take life a little easier.”

She gnawed nervously at her bottom lip. It was already Saturday evening, and with this detour, they had seven hundred miles left on the journey. She reminded herself that they didn’t have to be in Telarosa until Monday morning, so, assuming Bobby Tom didn’t try anything funny, there was plenty of time. Even so, she wasn’t reassured.

She still couldn’t believe he had decided to go to Telarosa by way of Memphis when, as she’d pointed out several times, the map in the glove compartment had shown that the most direct route stretched west through St. Louis. But he kept talking about how he couldn’t let her live another day of her life without visiting the finest eating establishment east of the Mississippi. Until only moments ago, she had been envisioning something small, expensive, possibly French.

“You can’t stay long,” she said firmly. “We need to get several more hours of driving in before we stop for the night.”

“Whatever you say, honey.”

The raucous sounds of a country and western song assaulted her ears as he held the door open for her and she stepped into the smoky interior of Whoppers Bar and Grill. Square, wooden tables sat on a grubby orange and brown checkerboard floor. Beer signs, flyspecked calendar girl posters, and deer antlers provided ambience. As her eyes slid over the rough-looking crowd, she touched his arm.

“I know you want to get rid of me, but I’d appreciate it very much if you didn’t do it here.”

“You don’t have a thing to worry about, sweetheart. As long as you don’t irritate me.”

While she was absorbing that worrisome piece of information, a heavily made-up brunette in a turquoise Spandex skirt and tight-fitting white tank top hurled herself into his arms.

“Bobby Tom!”

“Hey there, Trish.”

He bent down to give her a kiss. The moment his lips brushed hers, she opened her mouth and sucked like a vacuum cleaner, drawing in his tongue as if it were a month’s worth of carpet lint. He pulled away first and gave her that bone-melting grin he bestowed on every woman who came near him.