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Bobby Tom stood at the back window and watched her stalk across the yard, although why he gave a damn whether or not she made it to her apartment safely, he didn’t know. She’d stepped way over the line tonight, and if he hadn’t let her understand straight out that he wasn’t going to put up with it, he’d never have another moment’s peace with her.
As she entered her apartment, he turned away from the window, resentment churning inside him. The phone started ringing again, his answering machine clicked on, and Gracie’s voice invited the caller to leave a message.
“Bobby Tom, this is Odette Downey. Would you mind doin’ me a big favor and seein’ if you could get hold of Dolly Parton and ask her if she’d donate one of her wigs to our celebrity auction? We know people’d bid big on that wig, and—”
He pulled the telephone from the wall and threw it across the office.
Gracie knew how much he cared about his mother! She had to understand the emotions that had gone through him this afternoon when he’d seen her walking down those stairs with Way Sawyer. He grabbed a cigar from the humidor he kept on top of his desk, bit off the end, and spit it into the ashtray. He still didn’t know which bothered him the most, the fact that his mom was seeing Sawyer or the fact that she hadn’t told him about it. His chest tightened. After the way she’d loved his dad, how could she let Sawyer near her?
Once again, he turned his anger onto Gracie. All his life he’d played sports, and the idea of being loyal to your teammates was as much a part of him as his name. Gracie, on the other hand, had proved tonight that she didn’t know the meaning of the word.
He snapped off the heads of two matches before he finally got his cigar lit. As he took short, angry puffs, he decided this was exactly what he deserved for letting her worm her way into his life. He’d known from the beginning how dictatorial she was, but he’d still kept her around and let her slither under his skin like a damn little chigger. Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to sit here all night and brood about it. Instead, he intended to settle down and get some work done.
Clamping the cigar in the corner of his mouth, he picked up a pile of papers and gazed down at the top sheet, but he might as well have been staring at Chinese. The house felt cold and silent without her. He set the cigar in the ashtray, then tapped the edges of the papers and moved them closer to the center of the desk. As the quiet of the empty house tightened around him, he realized how accustomed he’d become to having her around. He liked hearing the murmur of her voice coming from another room as she returned his calls or phoned one of the old people at that nursing home in New Grundy. He liked the way he’d sometimes wander into the living room and find her curled up in one of the ruffly chairs by the window reading a book. He even enjoyed sneaking around behind her back to pour out that awful coffee she made and fix a fresh pot without her knowing it.
Abandoning the papers in front of him, he rose and went into the bedroom, but as soon as he stepped inside, he knew it was a mistake. The room held her scent, that elusive fragrance that sometimes reminded him of spring flowers and other times made him think of summer afternoons and ripe peaches. Gracie seemed to be part of all the seasons. The warm glints of autumn shone in her hair, the clear light of winter sun sparkled in those intelligent gray eyes. He had to keep reminding himself that she wasn’t a U.S.D.A. prime-cut female because lately he’d had a tendency to forget. It was just . . .
She was so damned cute.
He saw a scrap of blue lace lying on the carpet next to the side of the bed where she’d slept last night and leaned over to pick it up. A jolt of heat shot straight to his groin as he recognized her panties. He crushed the wisp of fabric in his fist and fought the urge to charge across the yard into her apartment, strip her naked, and bury himself inside her, right where he belonged.
With the novelty of initiating a virgin worn off, he should be starting to lose interest in the sexual side of their relationship, but he kept thinking up new things he wanted to show her, plus he hadn’t nearly got tired of practicing all the old stuff. He loved the way she clung to him and those soft little sounds she made; he loved her curiosity and her energy, how he could embarrass her without half trying and, dammit, how she sometimes embarrassed him with her insatiable nosiness about his body.
He didn’t exactly understand it, but there was something about the way she felt when he was inside her that seemed exactly right, not just to his cock, but to all of him. He thought of the flocks of women he’d dated and gone to bed with. None of them had felt exactly like Gracie.
Gracie felt right.
Sometimes she did this funny little thing after they’d finished making love. He’d be holding her against his chest, sort of dozing off and feeling peaceful all the way down to his toenails, and she’d make this little X right over his heart with her fingertip. Just this little X. Right over his heart.
He was pretty certain Gracie figured she was in love with him. It wasn’t unusual.
He was accustomed to women falling in love with him, and with a few memorable exceptions, he’d learned to stay honest without breaking their hearts. The thing he appreciated about Gracie was that she understood she wasn’t really his kind of woman, and she had enough sense to accept it without making a big fuss. Gracie might create scenes about things that weren’t any of her business, like she’d done tonight, but she’d never make a scene about how she loved him and expected him to love her back because she was realistic enough to know it wouldn’t ever happen.
Perversely, her acceptance now irritated him. He shoved his cigar back in the corner of his mouth, jammed his hands on his hips, and stalked into the kitchen if a woman wanted a man, she should fight for him instead of giving up without a struggle. Dammit, if she loved him, why didn’t she work a little harder at not being such an aggravation? Show me how to please you, that’s what she’d said. She could damn well please him by giving him a little loyalty and understanding, by agreeing with him once in a while instead of arguing all the time, by being naked in his bed right now instead of tucked away over that damn garage.
As his mood grew blacker, he added more grievances against her to his invisible checklist, including the fact that she was turning into a damned flirt. It hadn’t slipped his notice how many of the men on the crew made excuses to hang around her, and as far as he was concerned, it was her fault more than theirs. She didn’t have to smile at them like they were irresistible or listen to what they were saying as if every word coming out of their mouths was scripture. He brushed over the fact that she was a naturally good listener. As far as he was concerned, an engaged woman should be more reserved when she was around other men.
He grabbed the milk carton from the refrigerator and took a swig. Considering the fact that he was responsible for her make-over, he supposed he couldn’t entirely blame her for the way the men watched her when she wasn’t looking, but it still riled him. He’d even been forced to exchange a few words with a couple of guys last week—nothing too obvious because he didn’t want anybody to get the wrong idea and think he was jealous—just a friendly little reminder that Gracie was his fiancée, not some cheap little sex toy they had a snowball’s chance in hell of dragging off to their motel rooms.
He shoved the milk back into the refrigerator, then stomped through the house nursing his grievances and feeling ill-used. Suddenly, he came up short. What was he doing? He was Bobby Tom Denton, for chrissake! Why was he letting her get to him like this? He was the one who held all the aces.
That reminder should have calmed him down, but it didn’t. Somehow or another, her good opinion had become important to him, maybe because she knew him a lot better than anybody else he could think of off the top of his head. That realization left him with a sense of vulnerability that was suddenly unbearable. Jabbing out his cigar in a china ashtray, he made up his mind exactly how he was going to handle her. For the next few days, he’d be cordial, but cool. He’d give her time to think about how badly she’d behaved and where her true loyalty belonged. Then, once she understood who held the power in their relationship, he’d take her back.
His mind spun ahead. They’d be leaving for L.A. right after Heavenfest to finish shooting the interiors on a sound-stage there, and once they got away from this crazy town, she’d settle down. But what was going to happen when the movie was done and she no longer had a job? From the way she kept in touch with the old people she’d left behind and the fact that she’d adopted a whole new bunch at Arbor Hills, he was starting to believe that nursing homes might be in her blood, just as football was in his. What if she decided to go back to New Grundy?
The idea unsettled him. He trusted her more than any assistant who’d ever worked for him, and he had no intention of letting her go. He’d simply make her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and she could come to work for him full-time. Once she was officially on his payroll with a generous salary, all these foolish money arguments between them would be a thing of the past. He mulled over the idea. It was bound to get sticky between them when he got tired of the physical side of their relationship. Still, he was fairly certain he could ease her out of his bed without destroying the friendship that had come to mean so much to him.
He examined his plan for flaws, but found none. After all, handling any woman, even one like Gracie, was pretty much a matter of staying on top of the situation, and he congratulated himself on his ability to do exactly that. Before he knew it, he’d have her right back where he wanted her, snuggled up against him in his bed, making a little X right over his heart.
20
“Where do you think we should put the key chains, Gracie?”
Gracie had just finished unwrapping the last of the white china souvenir ashtrays shaped like the state of Texas. They had a pink Cupid marking the location of Telarosa and a red script legend that read:
HEAVEN, TEXAS
A PLACE IN THE HEART
