Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(37)

Patrick pressed one hand to the front of a neon green silk shirt. “Oh, God. Your accent’s fabulous.”

She couldn’t resist a little probing, and she glanced over at Kenny, who was leafing through a pile of mail he’d taken from a small wooden chest that also held a majolica vase spilling over with spring flowers. “Another stripper?”

“Don’t look at me,” he said. “Torie’s the one who brought her here.”

Patrick’s eyes gleamed. “Your stepmother is going to have a public orgasm when she meets Lady Emma.”

“Do you mind?” Kenny growled.

“My, my. Someone’s out of sorts, isn’t he? I should think a very nice Clos du Roy 1990 Fronsac will take care of that.” He picked up her suitcase. “Come along, Lady Emma, I’ll show you to your room while Kenneth puts his happy face back on.”

“Just Emma,” she said with a sigh.

Kenny smiled without looking up from the mail.

As she followed Patrick toward the stairs, she gazed off at the living room to the right where the walls were covered in the same faux-painted vanilla and beige stripes as the hallway. Wing chairs, a cozy, overstuffed couch, and well-worn Oriental rugs gave the room a comfortable, lived-in look.

Patrick noticed her interest in the decor. “Do you want to see the rest of the downstairs?”

“I’d quite like that.”

“The kitchen is the best. Kenneth absolutely lives there when he’s home.” He set down her luggage, then led her back along the hallway into an enormous country kitchen that stretched in a spacious L across the rear of the house. She blinked in surprise. “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you. I designed it.”

The walls and ceiling were painted a bright, cheery yellow, while the floor with its large terra-cotta tiles added even more warmth. An informal seating area, positioned in front of the fireplace, held a couch with a floral design in shades of yellow, coral, and emerald, along with several comfortable chairs. Two separate sets of French doors, one of which opened out onto a sun porch, sent light splashing over the array of colorful abstract canvases that graced the walls.

The eating area held a bay window and an elegant Regency dining table, which was surrounded by a comfortable hodgepodge of Chippendale, Louis XVI, and Early American chairs covered with unmatched, but coordinating, fabrics. The polished tabletop reflected another spray of flowers, this one arranged in an earthenware pitcher.

“Everything’s so beautiful.”

“It was risky, but Kenneth needs cozy roots.” Patrick made a small, fluttering gesture.

Emma didn’t mean to stare, but Patrick’s presence had definitely taken her aback.

He brushed his hand over the top of the table. “You’re wondering what someone like me is doing here, aren’t you?”

“Wondering?” She was dying of curiosity, but much too polite to make any inquiries on her own.

“Small Texas towns aren’t terribly kind to a gay man.”

“No, I don’t imagine so.”

A flicker of unhappiness crossed his face, then disappeared. “I’ll show you to your room.”





Chapter 8

Emma ate by herself that night. After announcing that Kenny had gone off to practice, Patrick served her a delicious pasta salad, along with fresh green beans drizzled with olive oil and garlic, a crusty French roll, and a thick wedge of blueberry tart for dessert. She ate on the sun porch, which was furnished in shiny black rattan covered in a crisp green and white awning stripe. More flowers overflowed from a collection of rustic vases sitting on antique tables. Behind the house, a grove of pecans grew, while a patio and swimming pool sat off to one side, and the white-fenced pasture where the horses grazed stretched in the distance. Earlier she had taken a walk along the river to enjoy the wildflowers.

Despite the peaceful atmosphere and the scented air blowing in through the screen door, she felt restless. Why hadn’t Kenny returned? Even though she’d told him she’d stay out of his way, she wished he didn’t find her presence so unpleasant.

Patrick refused her offer to help with cleanup, so she spread out her research notes and worked for a while as it grew dark. Bugs, attracted by the lights on the porch, slammed into the screen, while crickets sawed away. She heard the quiet hum of the dishwasher, the call of a night bird. The peacefulness reminded her of St. Gert’s after the girls were asleep.

Her spirits dipped lower. At this rate, she would return to England with her reputation more intact than ever. She saw Patrick crossing the lawn toward the small apartment he’d told her he maintained above the garage. Impulsively, she called out, “Do you have Torie’s number posted somewhere?”

“There’s a list on the side of the refrigerator.”

A few moments later, she had Kenny’s sister on the phone.

“No, I don’t have any plans,” Torie said after Emma explained what she wanted. “But I don’t think Wynette’s bars will exactly suit your taste.”

“What’s the fun of going on holiday if I don’t try new things?”

“Well, all right. If you’re sure about this, I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”

Emma dressed in the pair of dungarees she’d bought the day before along with a stretchy white bubble-knit just short enough to reveal a thin band of skin at her waist and just tight enough to emphasize her breasts. Although the short sleeves hid most of the Lone Star tattoo, they revealed the banner bearing Kenny’s name. Humiliating, but necessary, she decided, and vowed not to look in the mirror. She only hoped Beddington’s henchman was bright enough to bring along a camera.