Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(36)

From the moment Francesca had met Emma, she’d felt a kinship with her. Beneath her friend’s deep intelligence and innate goodness, she’d glimpsed her loneliness.

Then there was Kenny Traveler . . . her darling, unhappy Kenny. . . . Francesca’s eyes drifted shut, and she recalled another too-handsome Texas golf pro who’d endangered his game by spending too much time fighting demons he wouldn’t let anyone else glimpse.

Still, Emma and Kenny? What could she have been thinking of? If it hadn’t been for Torie’s situation, she would never have thought to connect them in her mind.

Francesca’s sources were impeccable, and she’d learned about Beddington’s peculiar search for a bride almost as soon as it had begun, but she’d been stunned when she’d learned he’d latched on to Emma. Right away, she’d been struck by the similarities between Emma’s situation and Torie’s. That had made her think about Kenny, and then the most incredible image of Kenny and Emma together had taken shape in her mind. It was ridiculous, of course, to believe two such unlikely people could help each other. Still, stranger things had happened.

The water stopped running in the bathroom. She stretched lazily, even though she had a thousand things to do. First she needed to call her best friend, Holly Grace Beaudine Jaffe, who also happened to be Dallie’s first wife, and was now the mother of four boys—five if Francesca counted Holly Grace’s husband Gerry. Then she needed to get to work. Putting on a monthly television special didn’t happen by accident, and she had a long list of calls to make, beginning with her producer in New York.

The bathroom door opened, and she forgot all about her calls as her husband’s deep drawl drifted across the room.

“Come here, Fancy Pants.”

Kenny’s ranch sat in a valley just south of Wynette. He turned off the main highway onto a narrower road, then headed down a lane marked by a pair of rough limestone pillars topped with a rustic wrought-iron arch.

“My property starts here.” Emma heard the subtle note of pride in Kenny’s voice.

They drove through the entrance, past a peach orchard just beginning to come into bloom, and across a wide wooden bridge that spanned a stretch of shallow, crystal-clear river. “That’s the Pedernales. It floods during big storms and covers the bridge, but I still love having it in my front yard.”

And that’s exactly where it was, Emma realized—in his front yard. Kenny’s ranch house sat at the top of a gently sloping bit of lawn shaded here and there with live oaks. The house itself was a graceful rambling structure built of creamy white limestone with smoky blue shutters and trim. Twin limestone chimneys rose from the expansive tin roof she’d already seen on so many buildings in the area, and a galloping horse weather vane turned lazily in the April breeze. Big wooden rockers sat on the front porch, extending a silent invitation to rest awhile and gaze down at the meandering path of the Pedernales. Off to one side, she glimpsed a windmill, a limestone stable, and a white fence surrounding a picturesque pasture where horses grazed.

“You have horses!” she exclaimed as he pulled up to the side of the house.

“Only two. Shadow and China. They’re quarter-horses.”

She could see his affection for the animals in his smile, and she tried to take it all in. “Gracious, Kenny, you have so much. Horses, that beautiful condo in Dallas, this wonderful ranch. . . .”

“Yeah. Not bad for a kid who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, is it?”

She was startled to hear a faint tinge of bitterness in his voice, and she tilted her head to look at him. “Did that silver spoon make all this magically appear by itself?”

“I guess I worked for it,” he said begrudgingly. “If you call what I do for a living work.” His expression indicated he didn’t quite believe it.

Emma found it curious that he wasn’t more impressed with all that he’d accomplished. “I call it work. I’m sure no one handed you those championships just for your good looks. You also seem to endorse a number of companies.”

“I am pretty good-lookin’.” He shot her a smug smile, then pulled her suitcases out of the car without being asked. Both acts distracted her, which was probably what he intended as he moved ahead of her to the front porch.

Just as he got there, the door shot open and a young man in his late twenties flew out. He had a slight build, curly carrot-colored hair, rather prominent eyes, and a huge smile.

“Kenneth! Let me take that before you throw your back out. Whatever can you be thinking of?” He snatched the suitcase away. “You’re too bad not letting me know you were coming. I barely had a chance to get the house ready. If Torie hadn’t called to warn me, I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“Sorry. It was a last-minute decision.” Kenny followed the young man into the cool, quiet foyer, which was painted in wide, muted stripes of vanilla and beige. “Patrick, this is Lady Emma. She’s going to be staying here for a while. Unfortunately. Put her as far away from me as you can manage. Emma, this is Patrick. My housekeeper.”

Emma regarded the young man curiously. Really. Kenny knew the most extraordinary people.

“Lady Emma?” Patrick exclaimed. “Please, God, tell me you’re the real thing and not another stripper.”

The man was so winning, it was impossible not to smile. “I’m real, but please, just call me Emma.”