The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(72)

“Something’s wrong, all right.” Another long pause. “What would you think about—” Meg’s pitch rose half an octave as she rushed through her words. “What would you think about me hooking up with Ted?”

Lucy shot up in bed, wide awake now, but not certain she’d heard right. “Hooking up? As in—?”

“Yes.”

“With Ted?”

“Your former fiancé.”

“I know who he is.” Lucy shoved back the sheet and dropped her legs over the side of the bed. “You and Ted are a … couple?”

“No! No, not a couple. Never. This is just about sex.” Meg was talking too fast. “And forget it. I’m not exactly thinking clearly right now. I should never have called. God, what was I thinking? This is a total betrayal of our friendship. I shouldn’t have—”

“No! No, I’m glad you called!” Lucy jumped up from the bed. Her heart was racing, her spirits soaring. “Oh, Meg, this is perfect. Every woman should have Ted Beaudine make love to her.”

“I don’t know about that, but— Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Are you kidding?” Lucy was dizzy, light-headed, giddy at this astonishing gift from the gods. “Do you know how guilty I still feel? If he sleeps with you … You’re my best friend. He’d be sleeping with my best friend! It’ll be like getting absolution from the pope!”

“You don’t have to sound so broken up about it,” Meg said dryly.

Lucy did a little hop skip over the shorts she’d abandoned on the floor.

And then in the background, she heard it. Ted’s voice, deep and steady. “Tell Lucy hello from me.”

“I’m not your messenger boy,” Meg snapped back.

Lucy swallowed hard. “Is he there right now?”

“That would be a yes,” Meg replied.

The old guilt washed over her. “Tell him hello from me then.” She sank back on the edge of the bed. “And that I’m sorry.”

Meg stopped talking directly into the phone, but Lucy had no trouble hearing her. “She said she’s having the time of her life, screwing every man she meets, and dumping you was the best move she ever made.”

Lucy jumped up. “I heard that. And he’ll know you’re lying. He knows things like that.”

Ted’s response to Meg’s fabrication was as clear as a bell. “Liar.”

“Go away,” Meg snarled at him. “You are totally creeping me out.”

Lucy clutched the phone. “Did you just tell Ted Beaudine that he was creeping you out?”

“I might have,” Meg said.

Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Lucy tried to pull herself together. “Wow … I sure didn’t see this coming.”

“See what coming?” Meg sounded annoyed. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.” Lucy gulped. “Love you. And enjoy!” She hung up, jumped up, pressed the phone to her chest. And danced around the room.

Meg and Ted. Meg and Ted. Meg and Ted.

Of course.

Of course, of course, of course! Ted wasn’t a player. He didn’t sleep with women he wasn’t seriously attracted to. And he was attracted to Meg, Lucy’s screwball, screw-up best friend, who wandered the world without a plan and cared nothing about earning anyone’s good opinion.

Meg Koranda and Mr. Perfect. Her rough edges and his smooth surfaces. Her impulsiveness and his forethought. Both of them blessed with brains, loyalty, and gigantic hearts. It was a crazy, unpredictable match made in heaven, although from the sound of their conversation, neither of them seemed to realize it. Or at least Meg didn’t. With Ted, it was hard to tell.

Lucy had no trouble imagining the battles they were having. Meg blunt-spoken and confrontational; Ted laid-back on the surface, steely underneath. And as she thought about them, the missing pieces of her own relationship with Ted finally fell into place. The only rough edge between them had been Lucy’s inability to relax with him, her feeling that she had to be on her best behavior to justify being Ted’s partner. Meg wouldn’t give a damn about anything like that.

They just might be perfect for each other. If they didn’t screw things up. Which, since Meg was involved, seemed highly probable. But whether they worked out or not, one thing was certain. If Meg and Ted were in bed together, Lucy was finally off the hook.



AFTER THAT, SHE WAS TOO worked up to get back to sleep. The house’s spotty air-conditioning had left her bedroom uncomfortably warm. She opened the sliders, fetched her flip-flops to protect her bare feet from the splintery deck, and stepped outside.

Threatening clouds tumbled in the sky. She pulled her damp cami away from her breasts. With the wind, the distant flash of lightning, and the dark mystery of the lake for company, she finally felt liberated from her guilt.

A movement caught her eye, a figure—broad of shoulder, narrow of hip, with a distinct long-legged stride—coming around the side of the house. As he passed the picnic table, he paused to look back, but she was standing too deeply in the shadows for him to see her. He crossed the yard, moving more quickly. When he reached the top of the stairs, he paused, looked back again, then headed down to the water.

Maybe he had insomnia, too, but why was he being so furtive? She decided to find out. She stepped off the deck. On her way across the yard, she tripped over the horseshoe stake. It hurt like crazy, but no way was Viper letting a little thing like a stubbed toe hold her back.