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“How long have you been divorced?”
“A year, but we were separated for a while before that. Tommy was a womanizer. Daddy warned me not to marry him, but I wouldn’t listen.” A deeply unhappy expression crossed her face. “Maybe if I’d been able to have a baby, Tommy would have settled down, but it didn’t happen.”
“I doubt that a baby would have kept him faithful.”
“I know you’re right. Still, it’s hard being a two-time loser.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “My first husband was a college romance gone bad. He drank, and when he drank, he’d go on these crying jags, then he’d bust up our apartment. It didn’t last a year.” She reached for the radio. “Daddy says I can’t be trusted when it comes to men, which is why he wants me to marry Dexter. But I don’t—” She looked into the rearview mirror, and her hand stalled on the radio buttons as she frowned. “That sonovabitch has been tailing me ever since we left Kenny’s ranch. I swear he was parked there waiting for me.”
“Really!” Emma twisted around to look and saw a dark green Taurus. “Do you think he’s following us?”
“Could be.”
Emma’s mouth went dry. Beddington’s watchdog was on the job.
Wynette, Texas, was a charming old town with a shady square at its center and a prosperous, downtown shopping area that hadn’t been forced out of business by a mall. Since Kenny had bypassed Wynette when he’d driven to his ranch, this was Emma’s first chance to see the town, and Torie took her on a tour that ended up at a honky-tonk called the Roustabout. A green Taurus stayed with them all the way.
As they went inside, Emma kept trying to look over her shoulder to see who might follow them.
“This is where everybody in town hangs out,” Torie said. “It’s been here for years.”
Unlike the cozy pubs in Lower Tilbey, the Roustabout was a vast, open room, with a square wooden bar in the middle. Emma saw two pool tables, a row of video games, and a small dance floor with a jukebox blaring out country music. Although it was a weeknight, most of the tables were occupied, as were the booths that ran along one wall.
Once again, Emma glanced over her shoulder, and this time she saw a beefy man in a floral sport shirt coming through the door. The skin on the back of her neck prickled as he began to stare at her, and her heart beat faster. Was he Hugh’s spy? Was he the man who’d been driving the green Taurus?
Torie moved ahead of her toward the bar, lifted one hand to her mouth, then let out a shrill whistle. “Listen up, y’all.”
Although the jukebox continued to play, the conversation died as everyone regarded her with interest.
“This is Lady Emma,” Torie announced. “Kenny’s showing her around for a few days. She’s from England. She also happens to be a real, live aristocrat, despite that tattoo on her arm. Lady Emma, say a few words to these rednecks, so they’ll know you’re for real.”
“I’m delighted to meet all of you,” Emma said self-consciously. She tried to hunch her shoulders just enough for her sleeve to drop lower, but it didn’t move, and several people’s eyes lingered on her tattoo. Even so, her British accent seemed to impress them.
Torie took Emma’s arm and turned her to the bar. “Joey, give me a glass of Chardonnay, will you? What would you like, Lady Emma?”
“Gin and tonic, please.” Emma didn’t like gin and tonic—not like she liked margaritas—but she wanted everyone to see her drinking. At the same time, she had a permanent reminder emblazoned on her upper arm of her need to stay sober, so she made up her mind to dump the drink and substitute water as soon as she got the chance. No one would be the wiser.
The bartender served their drinks, and a number of the bar’s patrons came up for personal introductions, which Torie provided. One man suggested she lock away her valuables before Kenny stole them, and a woman said not ever to let him turn a jump rope for her because he’d trip her sure as anything. Both comments were greeted with knowing chuckles from the crowd.
Eventually, Torie led her toward a table in one corner where a young male who looked to be in his early twenties sat by himself sipping a beer. As they approached, Emma wondered if there was something in the Wynette water supply that produced such good-looking people. First Kenny, then Torie, and now this young man. He had crisp auburn hair and strong features that included high cheekbones and a square, solid jaw. His shoulders were broad, his body slim but hard-muscled.
“Hey, Ted. How you doin’?” Torie took a seat at the table without waiting for an invitation, then gestured toward the empty chair on the other side for Emma.
“Can’t complain. How about you?”
“Same old. Same old. This is Lady Emma.”
As Emma nodded, the man named Ted glanced at her tattoo, then gave her a lazy, meandering smile that made her wish she were ten years younger. “Ma’am.”
“He’s only twenty-two,” Torie said, as if she were reading Emma’s mind. “Isn’t that a major crime for us older women?”
Ted smiled and ducked his head to study his beer bottle.
“You seen Kenny?” Torie asked.
“He was here a minute ago.”
The fact that Kenny had gone out on the town without inviting her was annoying. Apparently she was going to have to drop Francesca’s name again to remind him who was in charge.
As if she’d conjured him, Kenny came ambling across the room. He had a beer bottle in one hand and a golf club swinging loosely from the other. He tossed it to the bartender, who tucked it away.
