Heaven, Texas (Chicago Stars #2)(45)

If only Hoyt were still alive.

I miss you so much, my darling. Why did you have to leave me behind?



By six o’clock, shooting had finished for the day. As Bobby Tom walked away from the corral, he was hot, tired, dirty, and irritable. He’d been eating dust all afternoon, and the schedule called for more of the same tomorrow. As far as he was concerned, this Jed Slade character was about the stupidest excuse for a human being he’d ever seen. Bobby Tom didn’t consider himself an expert on horses, but he knew enough about them to be absolutely certain that no self-respecting rancher, whether he was a drunk or not, would try to break a horse while he was half dressed.

Throughout the course of the day, Bobby Tom’s irritation over his artificially oiled and dirt-smeared chest and his unzipped jeans had flared into righteous indignation. They were treating him like a sex object! It was damned demeaning, that’s what it was, being reduced to a set of oily pecs and a tight ass. Shit. A dozen years in the NFL, and this was what it had all come down to. Pecs and ass.

He stormed toward his motor home, the heels of his boots churning up puffs of dust. He intended to take a quick shower, head for home, and lock the door for a while before he went to visit Suzy. He hoped to hell Gracie hadn’t run off because he was looking forward to taking out his bad mood on her. He pulled the door of the motor home open and stepped inside only to come to an abrupt halt as he saw that the interior was filled with women.

“Bobby Tom!”

“Hey, there, Bobby Tom!”

“Hi, cowboy!”

Six of them were scampering around like cockroaches, setting out homemade casseroles, cutting pies, and pulling beer from the refrigerator. One of them was an old acquaintance, three others he remembered having met that day on the set, two of them he didn’t recognize at all. And every bit of the activity was being directed by the seventh woman, an evil witch in a black-and-brown-striped dress that looked like a raccoon tail, who gave him a gloating smile as she stood in the middle of the commotion and handed out orders.

“Shelley, that casserole looks delicious; I’m sure Bobby Tom is going to enjoy every bite. Marsha, I don’t remember ever seeing such a beautiful pie. How thoughtful of you to bake it. You did a wonderful job on the floor, Laurie. I know Bobby Tom appreciates it. He’s very particular about his linoleum, aren’t you, Bobby Tom?”

She gazed at him with the serenity of a madonna, but her clear gray eyes glittered with triumph. She knew damn well that a gaggle of matrimonially inclined females was the last thing he wanted to face right now, but instead of getting rid of them, she had encouraged them to hang around! He finally understood Gracie’s function in his life. She was God’s joke on him.

A woman with big hair and a stretchy top handed him a can of beer. “I’m Mary Louise Finster, Bobby Tom. Ed Randolph’s nephew’s wife is my first cousin. Ed told me I should stop in and say hello.”

He took the beer and smiled automatically, even though his cheeks ached from the effort. “It sure is nice to meet you, Mary Louise. How’s Ed doing these days?”

“Why, just fine, thank you for asking.” She turned to the woman at her side. “And this is my best friend, Marsha Watts. She used to go out with Riley Carter’s brother Phil.”

One by one the women pressed themselves forward. He dispensed courtesies and flattery like Pez candy, while his head ached and his skin itched from dirt and baby oil. There was enough perfume in the air to poke a brand-new hole in the ozone layer and he fought the urge to sneeze.

The door opened behind him, slapping him in the butt. He automatically stepped aside, an action that unfortunately permitted another woman to push her way in.

“You remember me, don’t you, Bobby Tom? I’m Colleen Baxter, used to be Timms before I was married; but I’m divorced now from that cheatin’ sonovabitch used to work at Ames Body Shop. Me and you went to high school together, but I was two years behind you.”

He smiled at Colleen through the angry red haze swirling in front of his eyes. “You’ve gotten so beautiful, sweetheart, I hardly recognized you. Not that you weren’t a pretty little thing back then.”

Her high-pitched giggle set his teeth on edge, and he saw a lipstick smudge on one of her incisors. “You’re too much, Bobby Tom.”

She batted playfully at his arm, then turned to Gracie and passed over a plastic grocery sack from the IGA. “I got that Neapolitan ice cream you told me Bobby Tom just loves, but you’d better put it in the freezer right away. The air-conditioning in my car’s broke, and it’s gettin’ real soft.”

Bobby Tom hated Neapolitan ice cream. Like most of life’s compromises, it just wasn’t satisfying.

“Thank you, Colleen.” As Gracie pulled the carton from the IGA sack, her Sunday-School-teacher smile was in sharp contrast to the devil-lights flashing in her gray eyes. “Wasn’t that sweet of Colleen to drive all the way back into town, Bobby Tom, just so you could have some ice cream?”

“Real sweet.” While he spoke evenly, the look he gave her carried such clear promise of evil intention that he was half-surprised he didn’t incinerate her right there on the spot.

Colleen tried to get a grip on his arm, but her hand kept sliding around in the baby oil, rubbing the grit deeper into his skin. “I’ve been studying up on football, Bobby Tom. I’m hoping I get a chance to take the quiz before you leave Telarosa.”