Heaven, Texas (Chicago Stars #2)(23)

She handed over the Thunderbird’s small rotor, along with the two screws that held on the distributor cap and her Swiss Army knife so he could refasten them. All of it had been neatly wrapped in the plastic bag she had taken from the hotel room for just this sort of emergency.

Bobby Tom stared down at it as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Make sure it’s firmly seated,” she said helpfully. “Otherwise, it could give you some problems.” Without waiting for a response, she retrieved the orange juice, hurried around to the passenger side of the car, and slid into her seat, where she busied herself studying the map.

Much too soon, the car shuddered as he slammed the hood. She heard his boots make sharp, angry clicks on the asphalt. He rested his hand on the window frame next to her and she saw that his knuckles were white. When he finally spoke, his voice was very soft and very angry.

“Nobody messes with my T-bird.”

She took a small nibble from her bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Bobby Tom. I know you love this car, and I don’t blame you for being angry. It’s a wonderful car. Really. That’s why I have to be honest and tell you that I have the ability to do serious damage to it if you try any more monkey business.”

His eyebrows shot up and he stared at her in disbelief. “Are you threatening my car?”

“I’m afraid I am,” she said apologetically. “Mr. Walter Karne, God rest his sweet soul, was at Shady Acres for almost eight years before he died. Until his retirement, he’d owned an auto repair shop in Columbus, and I learned quite a bit about engines from him, including how to disable them. You see, we had a problem with a particularly officious social worker who visited Shady Acres several times a month. He kept upsetting the residents.”

“So you and Mr. Karne retaliated by sabotaging his car.”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Karne was quite arthritic, which meant that I had to do the actual work.”

“And now you plan to use your special expertise to blackmail me.”

“It goes without saying the idea disturbs me a great deal. On other hand, I have a responsibility to Windmill Studios.”

Bobby Tom was beginning to look wild around the eyes. “Gracie, the only reason I don’t strangle you to death right this minute is because I know, as soon as the jury heard my story, they’d let me off, and then those sharks at the networks would turn the whole thing into a TV movie.”

“I have a job to do,” she said softly. “You really must let me do it.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. The two of us have reached the end of the line.”

Before she could stop him, he’d pulled the door open, scooped her up, and set her down in the parking lot. She gave a hiss of alarm. “Let’s talk about this!”

Ignoring her, he made his way to the rear of the car, where he pulled her suitcase from the trunk.

She rushed to his side. “We’re both reasonable people. I’m sure we can work out a compromise. I’m sure we—”

“I’m sure we can’t. They’ll call a cab for you inside.” He dropped her suitcase on the pavement, climbed back into the Thunderbird, and started the car with a roar.

Without giving herself time to think, she threw herself to the pavement in front of the tires and squeezed her eyes shut.

Long, tension-laden seconds ticked by. The heat of the asphalt penetrated her one-size-fits-all mustard brown wrap dress. The smell of exhaust made her head spin. She felt his shadow fall over her.

“In the interest of saving your life, the two of us are going to make a deal.”

She eased her eyes open. “What sort of deal?”

“I’ll stop trying to ditch you—”

“That’s fair.”

“—if you do what I say for the rest of the trip.”

She thought it over as she rose to her feet. “I don’t believe that’s going to work,” she said carefully. “In case no one has ever pointed it out to you, you’re not always reasonable.”

Beneath the brim of his Stetson, his eyes had narrowed. “Take it or leave it, Gracie. If you want to be a passenger in this car, you’re going to have to set your bossy ways aside and do what you’re told.”

When he put it like that, she didn’t have much choice, and she decided to give in graciously. “Very well.”

He returned her suitcase to the trunk. She resettled in the passenger seat. When he got back in, he gave the ignition key an angry twist.

She glanced at her watch and then the map she had been perusing earlier. “Just one thing before we start. You might not have realized it, but it’s almost ten, and you have to be on the set by eight o’clock tomorrow morning. We have about seven hundred miles to travel, and it looks as if the shortest route—”

Bobby Tom tore the map from her hand, balled it in his fist, and threw it out of the car. Minutes later they were back on the freeway.

Unfortunately, they were heading east.



By Tuesday night, Gracie had to acknowledge the fact that she was a failure. As she stared at the wipers sweeping half-moons across the Thunderbird’s windshield and listened to the rain spattering on the top above her, she mulled over the past few days. Despite making it as far as Dallas, she hadn’t been able to deliver Bobby Tom to Telarosa on time.