Heaven, Texas (Chicago Stars #2)(49)

“Congratulations.”

Connie gazed at Bobby Tom with hungry eyes. “What happened to you? You look like you’ve been rolling around with the pigs.”

“Not even close.”

She regarded him suspiciously, but before she could question him further, Jimbo slapped the ticket in his hand. “You can pay this at City Hall.”

“What’s that?” Connie asked.

“Had to give B.T. here a ticket. He’s got a broken headlight.”

Connie studied the headlight and then the broken glass lying on the ground. With a look of disgust, she pulled the ticket from Bobby Tom’s fingers and tore it in two. “Forget it, Jim. You’re not starting up with B.T. again.”

Jimbo looked as though he was going to explode, but at the same time, Bobby Tom could see that he didn’t want to do it in front of his beloved. Instead, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. “We’ll talk later, Denton.”

“I can’t wait.”

Jimbo glared at him, then led Connie away. Bobby Tom gazed at the torn ticket lying in the dirt and had the distinct feeling that Connie hadn’t done him a favor.



“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me what happened to the headlight.”

“Because it’s none of your damn business, that’s why.” Bobby Tom slammed the door harder than necessary as he got out of the car.

Gracie was so offended by his stubbornness that she didn’t even glance at his house as she stalked up the front walk after him. He was freshly showered and dressed in a blue chambray shirt that he’d rolled up at the sleeves. His perfectly faded jeans and his pearl gray Stetson made him look like a Guess? ad, while she had been forced to slip into a wrinkled olive drab skirt and blouse that she’d bought in a misguided fascination with the safari look.

After what had happened between them in the trailer, she very much needed to pick a fight. All the satisfaction had been one-sided, which wasn’t what she’d wanted at all. She wanted to give, not just take, but she was very much afraid he had come to regard her as an object of pity. Between the way she’d thrown herself at him last night and what had happened this afternoon, what else could he think?

By breaking into a trot, she finally caught up with him. “I was the last person to drive it.”

He glared at her from beneath the brim of his Stetson. “You didn’t break the headlight.”

“Then why won’t you tell me how it happened?”

“I’m not talking about it anymore!”

She was just getting ready to press him when her attention was caught by his house. The simple, white frame structure looked so different from his Chicago residence that she found it difficult to believe that the same person owned both places. Four painted concrete steps led up to a porch with a white railing, a wooden swing, and a broom propped near the door. The wide floorboards of the porch were painted the same serviceable dark green as the front door. No shutters softened the double hung front windows that looked out on the grove of pecan trees in the yard. No brass lanterns or shiny door knockers dressed up the exterior. The house was small, sturdy, and utilitarian.

And then Bobby Tom opened the front door and she walked inside.

“Oh, my.”

He chuckled. “It sort of takes your breath away, doesn’t it?”

A sense of wonder filled her as she gazed around the candy box entryway and took three slow steps into the living room on her left. “It’s beautiful.”

“I figured you’d like it. Most women do.”

She felt as if she’d entered an adult-sized dollhouse, a delicate pastel world of pink-and-cream accented with soft lavender and the palest of seafoam greens. The ruffles and florals and lace could have been overpowering, but everything had been executed with such exquisite taste that she wanted to cuddle up in one of the pink-and-white-striped armchairs with a cup of peppermint tea, an Angora cat, and a novel by Jane Austen.

The room smelled of roses. Her hands itched to explore the contrasting textures of lace curtains, polished chintz, cut glass, and gilt. She wanted to stroke the watered silk cushions with their fringed borders and twine her fingers through the loops of ribbon that held up a floral table skirt. Did the lush fern spilling from the white wicker basket sitting between the two front windows smell of rich, sweet earth? Would the spray of wheat and dried pink roses perched on the fireplace mantel crackle under her fingertips?

And then her heart lurched as Bobby Tom moved into the center of the room. He should have looked silly in the midst of such delicate surroundings, but instead, he had never looked more intensely masculine. The contrast between the room’s frivolous delicacy and his tough uncompromising strength made her insides go weak. Only a man with no doubts about his virility could walk with such assurance through so feminine an environment.

He tossed his Stetson on a plump ottoman and tilted his head toward an arched opening at the rear. “You want to really see something, take a gander at my bedroom back there.”

Several seconds ticked by before she could force herself to look away from him. Her legs felt shaky as she walked down a narrow hallway painted the pearly pink of the inside of a seashell and entered the room at the end. She paused in the doorway, so dumbstruck she didn’t even know he had come up behind her until he spoke.

“Go ahead. Say what’s on your mind.”