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had she ever stopped to think for a minute about how he felt? The fact that he cared about her hadn’t seemed to enter her mind. She thought she was so sensitive, but she didn’t have a single qualm about stomping all over his feelings. She was the best friend he’d ever had, but she hadn’t bothered to think about that.
The bedroom door banged against the wall as he pushed through it. Dammit! If Gracie figured she was going to send him into a tailspin by walking out on him, she could think again because he wasn’t going to take this from her. She’d said she wasn’t leaving until Monday, and he knew she’d be at the hoedown tomorrow night because she was running the Arbor Hills quilt lottery, and she always fulfilled her responsibilities. Well, he’d be ready for her.
Before he went to bed tonight, he was going to call Bruno and have him fly in an army of his old girlfriends. Tomorrow night at the hoedown, he intended to keep himself surrounded by beautiful women. Let Gracie Snow see exactly what she was walking away from. When she had to sit on the sidelines like some damned wallflower and watch all those sex trophies hanging on him, she’d come to her senses. A dose of reality was exactly what she needed. Before he knew it, she’d be trying to catch his attention so she could tell him she’d reconsidered. And because he loved her like a friend, he wouldn’t even make her grovel.
He stared bleakly down at his empty bed. Tomorrow night she’d learn her lesson. Damned straight she would. She’d learn that no woman in her right mind ever walked away from Bobby Tom Denton!
23
Thanks to Gracie’s stubbornness, Bobby Tom played the worst round of golf of his life—and in his own damned tournament, too. As a result, he was forced to endure endless ribbing by his friends, their baiting tempered only by the news of his broken engagement.
That night, when he arrived at the hoedown, he felt so worn down he could barely hold up his end of the conversation with the sex trophies Bruno had, sent from Chicago. Amber made a point of telling him she was considering a career as a microbiologist when she got bored with exotic dancing; Charmaine announced she was a Leo born under the House of the International Pancake, or some such bullshit, and Payton was hinting around to take the freakin’ football quiz! Bobby Tom wanted to dump all three of them on Troy Aikman, but he needed them nearby if he was going to bring Gracie to her senses.
To give Bruno credit, the women were stunners, but Bobby Tom couldn’t work up a speck of interest in any one of them. They were wearing their own versions of authentic Western dress: Amber in shrink-wrapped jeans and a bandanna top with a sheriffs badge nestled in her cleavage, Payton in a saloon girl’s costume cut down to her navel, and Charmaine in a cowgirl skirt made entirely out of fringe. When he caught a glimpse of Gracie dressed in the same prim yellow gingham outfit she’d worn to the birthplace dedication yesterday morning, he couldn’t help think she looked better than all three of them put together, an observation that did nothing to improve his mood.
The hoedown was being held at a ranch several miles out of town, and it was a semiprivate affair for the participants in the golf tournament, the Blood Moon people, and the Heavenfest committee members, which made up a large portion of the town. At Bobby Tom’s insistence, the gathering had been closed to tourists so the celebrities could have a real party without being hounded to death for autographs, something all the locals had been forbidden to do. The only formal event of the evening was a presentation ceremony where Bobby Tom would recognize the winners of the golf tournament. The tourists, in the meantime, hadn’t been forgotten, and the locals would be coming and going throughout the evening to make certain the events in town were running smoothly: the amusement park rides at the rodeo arena, the country and western bands, the food concessions.
The trees around the ranch house had been strung with colorful lights, and a temporary dance floor had been erected near the barn, along with a small, bunting-draped platform for the presentation ceremony. Once again, Bobby Tom’s gaze made its way to the table off to the side of the dance floor, where Gracie was selling raffle tickets for the patchwork quilt handmade by the Arbor Hills residents, and the sight of her filled him with such a painful rush of emotion he quickly looked away.
“Hey, B.T., you seemed to have had a little trouble on the back nine today.” Buddy ambled up with Terry Jo at his side, both of them in jeans and Western shirts, holding plastic cups of beer in their hands.
“The front nine, too,” Terry Jo said, shooting a malevolent look at the sex trophies and then eyeing Bobby Tom. “Entertain B.T.’s love children for a minute, will you, Buddy? Me and Mr. Hotshot need to have us a talk.”
The last thing Bobby Tom wanted at that moment was a private conversation with Terry Jo, but she didn’t give him much choice as she grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the others toward the fence. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, the minute they were out of earshot. “You know what you’re doing to Gracie, don’t you, breaking your engagement like that?”
He regarded her indignantly. “Did she say I broke our engagement?”
“She didn’t say hardly anything when I talked to her this morning, just that the two of you reached a mutual decision to end your relationship.”
“And you assumed that meant I ended it.”
“Didn’t you?”
“Hell, no.”
“Are you saying Gracie dumped you?”
He saw too late the trap he’d laid for himself.
“ ‘Course not. Nobody dumps me.”
“She did, didn’t she? She dumped you! Holy Moses! A person of the female species finally gave Bobby Tom Denton back a little bit of what he’s been giving out.” Grinning widely, she lifted her face to the heavens. “Thank you, Jesus!”
“Will you stop that! She didn’t dump me. Haven’t you figured out by now that we were never really engaged! It was just a ploy to keep everybody off my back while I was in town.” The fact that Terry Jo was making a joke out of this hurt in a way he couldn’t express.
“Of course you were engaged. A blind fool could see the two of you love each other.”
“We do not! Well, maybe she loves me, but . . . I care about her. Who wouldn’t? She’s about the best kind of woman there is. But, love? She’s not my type, Terry Jo.”
Terry Jo gave him a long, steady gaze. “It’s amazing. You don’t know any more about women now than you did in high school when you threw me over for Sherri Hopper.” She regarded him sadly. “When are you going to grow up, Bobby Tom?”
Without another word, she walked away from him. He stared at her back with a combination of resentment and misery. Why did she act like this was his fault? And when had his life gotten so screwed up? Until recently he’d thought it was the day he blew out his knee, but now he wondered if the real catastrophe hadn’t struck the night Gracie showed up at his house with her striptease.
Natalie walked up to him with Anton, who was carrying Elvis. As he greeted them, he thought what a beautiful woman she was. Nice, too. He’d seen her buck naked, kissed her for hours on end. She’d leaked on him, wrestled with him, shot at him, and just yesterday they’d had to jump in the river together. He and Natalie had been through a lot, but he didn’t feel close to her, not even half as close as he felt to Gracie.
The three of them chatted for a couple of minutes, and the next thing he knew he was holding Elvis so his parents could dance. The baby grabbed for the brim of his Stetson, and when he couldn’t reach that, settled for sucking on one end of the black silk scarf Bobby Tom had tied around his neck. Although he’d always been particular about his clothes, he couldn’t work up enough energy to rescue it. The baby smelled sweet and clean, and he felt a queer ache deep inside.
The sex trophies were coming toward him, but he pretended he didn’t see them and ducked behind one of the outbuildings just so he could have a few minutes to pull himself back together. Elvis started sucking on his shirt collar. As he emerged near one of the food tables, he saw his mother standing about ten yards away. She was dressed in a long dark skirt and a prim white schoolmarm’s blouse fastened at the neck with his grandmother’s old cameo brooch. He stiffened as he watched Way Sawyer approach her. At the same time he noted that Way looked like the real thing in faded jeans, a beat-up hat, old boots, and a flannel shirt.
