Cowboy at Midnight (10 page)

“Really?”

“A lot of my calves are going to weigh at least seven hundred pounds by August.”

“And that's good?”

“Yeah. Really good. Off-the-charts good.”

Liam brought their salads. Steve waited until she lifted her fork before he did the same.

She leaned close enough so that he caught the fragrance of violets. Her golden head was cocked at a cute angle, and her eyes shone with excitement as she swirled the golden liquid in her wineglass. She seemed to hang on his every word, as if what he did mattered to her. Suddenly he felt prouder of all that he'd accomplished on his ranch than he'd ever felt before and was bursting to tell her more.

But not now. He had to get her talking. How else was he ever going to get to know her?

“So, how was your day?” he prompted.

She stabbed at a piece of goat cheese. “Okay, I guess. Busy. Did your construction people show up?” she replied, deftly sidetracking him.

“Around ten. Sometimes I wonder if they'll ever get the house and barns and outbuildings done in time for the banquet.”

“If you don't keep on them, they won't. Oh boy, how I hate deadlines,” she said. “I could tell you horror stories.”

“I'd like to hear one.”

“There's a lot of pressure these days to plan events without much lead time. If you can meet commitments ahead of schedule, then you have more time to deal with whatever goes wrong.”

“Do things always go wrong?”

“Do they ever!” She laughed. “That's why I get paid. I put out all the brush fires. Take the presenters last night. One of them didn't e-mail me his presentation until two in the morning, so I couldn't download it until he did. And then those mikes today. I make decisions, solve those last-minute problems. I stay up all night if necessary. The secret is not to sweat the small stuff. When something goes wrong, you just have to fix it and go on.”

Her brows crinkled, and she set her fork down and stared past him.

“How come you look so puzzled all of a sudden?” he murmured.

“I just realized that if I applied that to my life, I'd—”

Liam's arrival with the rest of their meal interrupted her. Steve wasn't done with his salad, but he shoved it to one side and attacked his fish as soon as she lifted her fork.

“The salmon is good, really good,” he said after he took his first bite.

“So good it literally melts in your mouth,” she agreed, tasting hers. “I love this rich honey glaze they
drizzled all over it. I've used these people to cater lots of events.”

After that, they ate in silence for a while. He couldn't help noticing that all the other couples around them spoke to each other more eagerly than they concentrated on their meal. He put his fork down and looked at her, wishing she'd say something, anything.

She put her fork down and swallowed a deep breath. “I'm sorry I'm such poor company.”

“But you're not.”

“Like I told you, I'm out of practice when it comes to…dating.”

His throat tightened when he realized she saw tonight as a date, too.

“That's fine. Even though we started off with a bang, we can go slowly…as slowly as you need us to.”

“I…I come with a lot of baggage.”

He thought about Ryan and Lily and their complicated pasts. He also remembered standing at the altar alone while “Here Comes the Bride” played endlessly and no bride came down the aisle. Who didn't come with baggage?

“Got any drowned corpses in your closets with birthmarks on them?” he teased.

As soon as she lifted her head, he saw the grief flooding her eyes. His stomach knotted. He pushed his salmon aside.

“Sorry. I had this really weird conversation with Ryan earlier. I wasn't going to mention it, but I guess I can't get it off my mind.”

“It's all right,” she said softly. “How could you know what to say or not say? I haven't given you many clues.” She hesitated.

“About yesterday…” She swallowed, looking anxiously at the door again. “I…I got upset because of that drowning in Lake Mondo.”

“I noticed. I wondered why you ran off.” He stopped, wishing he could give her more than a blank stare.

Her hands began twisting the napkin in her lap into a tight melon-colored rope.

“A long time ago a friend of mine drowned in Lake Mondo.”

He waited, hoping for more.

“Her name was Lexie,” she said.

Had he ever heard more sadness in any voice?

“We searched for her body for days. I…I cried her name until I was hoarse.”

“So, the tattooed
L
stands for Lexie?”

She nodded. “We were still kids when we got those awful tattoos. Lexie got an
A
over her heart. She did it first, you see. My mother found out and forbade me—”

“But you snuck off and did it anyway?”

“Back then Lexie and I did everything together. But Mother was right—as always. I regretted the tattoo the next day. If I'd done everything she told me, nothing would—”

She stopped. When her eyes widened with shock at something she saw behind him, he tensed. Pressing her lips together, she ducked lower, as if attempting to hide behind his broad-shouldered body.

“Why didn't you ever tell me you regretted that tat
too, dear?” came a deep, throaty voice from behind his left shoulder.

“Mother,” Amy squeaked. “I didn't see you.”

“Then why are you cowering behind your handsome friend?”

“Where's Daddy?” Amy said.

“Parking the Volvo. You know how I hate valet parking. Sit up straight, dear, or you'll be big in the gut way before you're my age.”

Amy sat up rigidly, but her face was ashen.

“Introduce me, dear.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry. This is my, er, client, Steve Fortune. Mr. Fortune is hosting the Hensley-Robinson Awards Banquet that I'm planning for Tom.”

“Oh! Fortune as in
the
Fortunes?” Her mother was laughing almost giddily now. She leaned over Steve, staring at him, her sharp black eyes missing nothing.

When he held his hand out, she pumped it harder than most men would have.

She was attractive as were lots of rich women of an age, women who could afford good haircuts, makeup, clothes and plastic surgery. A smooth cap of glossy jet hair fell softly against her severe face. Tall and regally slim in a striking black suit, she had the commanding presence of a woman long used to getting her way.

“So,” she murmured, “how are you related to Ryan Fortune?”

“Distantly,” Steve answered succinctly.

“What's this awful news in the paper about him being involved with that drowning victim?”

Steve stiffened.

“Why, there was a terrible story in today's paper about it. Several stories, as a matter of fact. Simply everybody's talking about it.” Her throaty voice held a warning, even as her shrewd eyes homed in on Amy's pale, stricken face. “Did you see the front page, dear?”

“You know I left the house at five to fly to Houston, Mother.”

“Well, don't read it. Not tonight. Not until you call me.”

Amy looked so crushed, Steve knew he had to get her out of here. Dark shadows under her eyes gave her that haunted look again, and her hands were shaking.

“It was great meeting you,” Steve said abruptly. “Amy and I both had long days. I think we'd better call it an evening.”

Her mother took the hint and said goodbye. When she'd gone, Steve leaned closer to Amy. “Are you okay?”

“Sure.”

“You don't look okay.”

“You said we were going.”

“So, we're back to not talking again?”

“I don't want to burden—”

“Just tell me why your mother upsets you so much.”

“She always takes charge.”

“Only because you let her.”

“I can't forget that if I'd done what she said years ago, Lexie would still be alive. I always feel so guilty when I'm around her. I've disappointed her so deeply. I'm her only daughter. She used to be so proud of me, and now I'm this huge disappointment.”

“Maybe she was screaming so loudly, you couldn't hear yourself think. You can't live your life according
to other people's views. Not even your parents'. You've got to listen to yourself. Maybe it's time you give up being who she wants and become yourself.”

“Whoever that is. Look…I don't feel very well all of a sudden. I don't want to talk about her.”

“Hell, neither do I, but she seems to be at the center of whatever's wrong in your life.”

“No, she isn't! It's all my fault!”

“Do you blame yourself for Lexie's death?”

Amy lurched out of her chair and threw her tangled napkin in her plate. “I knew this couldn't work. I'm too messed up. I don't want to mess you up, too!”

“Whatever's wrong, you can fix it.”

“You really think life's that easy?”

“It is if you don't give up on yourself.”

“You don't know anything. You've never hurt anyone in your whole life! There are some things you can't take back!”

She stumbled toward the door. Without looking at the bill, he tossed two hundred-dollar bills on the table and raced after her. Vaguely he was aware of her parents' anguished faces. Everybody else was watching them, too.

Not that he cared, when he sprang between her and the front door.

“Let's just forget this,” she said. “Forget the other night….”

When she tried to move past him, he grabbed her arm and held on tight. “No. I want us to work this out. I care about you too much, Amy.”

“You're a fool, then. There is no
us.
It won't work. Like I said, I'm too messed up.”

“Do you want to stay stuck in this hell you've created for yourself for the rest of your life?”

Struggling to pull her arm free, she went even whiter. But he was too far gone to care.

“Take your hands off me. You're making a scene,” she whispered.

His gaze veered toward her stricken-looking father and mother, toward Liam, whose unsmiling face held vague menace now.

“I was trying to help,” Steve whispered. “But all right, you win.”

As abruptly as he'd seized her, he let her go. Raising both hands, he backed up and stood still as a statue until she flung the door open and ran out. Then he stormed out after her and loped alongside her the whole way to her car. When she pulled out her keys and accidentally unlocked all her doors, he sprang into the passenger side.

She was sobbing as she jammed her key into the ignition. “Get out or you'll be sorry!”

“Amy, you're too upset to drive.”

A flick of her wrist had her keys jingling again. The engine growled to life. “This is all your fault. You had to pry.”

“Let me drive you home.”

“Last chance, buster. Get out now!”

“Amy, please—”

“I said get out!”

He slammed his door and folded his wide arms across his thick chest.

“Buckle your seat belt,” she muttered as she snapped her own together.

“Amy—”

“Last chance. Get out!”

When he stayed where he was, she stomped on the accelerator and wheeled out of the parking lot so fast her tires screamed. He caught the acrid stench of burning rubber.

“For God's sake, Amy—”

“Shut up! Just shut up! Do you think I want to be unhappy forever? Is that what you think?”

At the sound of more hoarse, racking sobs, he turned. Pale brilliance sifted from a streetlight and bleached all color from her wet, tortured face.

“Aw, hell, darlin'. I've gone and made you cry.”

I
gnoring Steve, Amy hunched forward over the steering wheel and focused on her driving. She was frowning at the flying road. Steve took a deep, fortifying breath as the Toyota zipped frenetically through traffic, surging north up a wide lane of Congress Avenue toward the brightly lit capitol building. Steve cinched his seat belt as tightly as it would go and then gave his shoulder harness a yank as the Camry weaved around other cars chaotically.

One second she was honking at a red truck in front of her that was stopped at a light. In the next she was racing around it, running the light, causing several oncoming cars to slam on their brakes and nearly ram each other to avoid hitting her.

“Do you have a death wish?” Steve ground out through gritted teeth.

Clenching her jaw, she leaned even farther forward, not bothering to answer him.

“What about me, Amy? Do you want to kill me, too?”

She whitened.

“What about those other people out there? Kids even?”

A muscle jerked in her cheek, but she merely pressed her lips together all the more tightly.

“Amy, what's the matter with you? At least get out of town before you drive like a maniac.”

She kept her head lowered, her narrowed eyes fixed on the road, her lips still clamped together. But he breathed easier as she let up on the accelerator. For a few minutes she drove at a more reasonable speed, even stopping for all the lights, only gunning it when they turned green. But no sooner did she hit Mo-Pac, the north-south freeway on the western side of Austin, than she stomped on the gas pedal again. Instantly they were flying north, lane hopping, passing streams of cars and trucks.

“Do you always rebel when your mother pulls your strings?”

“Shut up! You're pulling them, too!” She tapped the gas pedal harder.

Maybe talking to her wasn't such a good idea.

Tires squealing, she swerved off Mo-Pac onto Ranch Road 2222. A few years ago it had been a twisting rural road. Now it was a busy thoroughfare that ran through posh, hilly, northwest Austin. She zoomed up and down the steep cedar-covered hills, sped around dangerous curves so fast they skidded onto the shoulder several times. At one point when
they careened over the top of a hill, they had a breathtaking view off to their left of all of West Austin, including the Colorado River and the famous red 360 Bridge.

Not that Steve was in any mood to enjoy the scenery. He was too worried about Amy. Her face was still ashen. Her blue eyes were wild and laser bright. She was out of control, and the Toyota was slicing through the flying dark at a hundred miles an hour.

The Camry's tires screamed as she made a turn too fast. When his shoulder harness caught, he held his breath. Artificially lit Tuscan villas and oversized Provençal cottages bled past them in splashes of garish color. When she came upon a slow-moving truck too fast, she hit the brakes so hard he had to brace a hand against the dash to keep from flying forward.

She passed the truck on the right. He shot her a glance and thought better of saying anything. But when they came upon a second truck at the top of the hill and she had to hit the brakes again, that was all he could take.

“Amy!”

Glassy-eyed, she stared ahead. He wondered if she had forgotten he was there. His brother Jack had nearly died when Ann had driven out of control like this. She'd slammed head-on into a truck, killing both herself and the truck driver. It had taken a guilt-stricken Jack years to get over that accident.

Steve had had enough.

“Is this how you killed Lexie?”

She banged her fists against the steering wheel and screamed. Tears of anguish rained down her cheeks.
Instead of slowing down, she pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

He leaned over, grabbed the gearshift and down-shifted into neutral. Then he yanked the keys out of the ignition.

“What are you doing?” she screamed, fighting to control the car.

“Pull over. You're in no shape to drive.”

“Give me the keys!”

She was straddling the center line as they hurtled over the top of a hill. A Cadillac was in their lane, driving too slowly. In the distance he saw the lights of an oncoming car.

“Go ahead! Kill me the way you killed your best friend! Kill all those other drivers out there, too!”

Amy honked, hit the brakes and spun the wheel to the right. The Toyota fishtailed on loose gravel and flew crazily to the left across the double yellow lines into the oncoming lane. The other car honked and swerved, missing them by inches as it whizzed past.

Then they were off the road, sliding endlessly in more gravel before the car skidded into a log, stopping so abruptly Steve was thrown forward.

His forehead smacked the windshield, and everything went black.

When he came to seconds later, he was aware of violets, aware of Amy's trembling arms cradling his head as she dabbed at something oozing above his right eye.

“Wake up. Don't die. Don't die,” she whispered in a subdued tone through strangled tears. “Please don't die.”

“Are you okay now?” he asked.

“Me? Are
you
okay?”

“I'll live. What about you?”

Before she could reply, a fist rammed against her window. When she opened the door, a man with a black cowboy hat and a cigarette dangling out of his mouth grabbed her arm and yanked her from the car by her arm.

“What's wrong with you, girl? I've been behind you since Mo-Pac. You drunk or high on somethin'?”

“I was upset.”

The man stared at her hard. Finding no sign of drunkenness, he finally released her. “Don't you know a car's the same as a lethal weapon? You could've killed somebody.”

“I…I'm sorry,” she said, weeping with genuine remorse as she rubbed her arm. “I shouldn't have driven like that. I… My passenger's hurt.”

The stranger leaned past her and studied Steve. “You okay in there, mister?”

“I'm fine,” Steve said even though he was starting to feel a little shaky. Ignoring the tremor in his hands, he opened the door and got out. “I've got the car keys.” He jingled them. “I'm going to drive her home if the car's all right.”

“Okay, young lady. You'd better not drive like a wild hellion again. Sooner or later your luck always runs out.”

Amy swallowed convulsively.

“I was gonna call 911,” the man said, “but your friend here seems responsible. Don't you ever forget, girl, cars aren't toys. Nobody has the right to drive like that—ever!” He turned to Steve. “I'll wait and make sure your car starts before I leave.”

“Thanks,” Steve said as he knelt and looked under the car. He walked around it before leading Amy to the passenger seat. Then he went around the back of the car and slid behind the wheel.

Even though the Toyota started, he popped the hood, got out and looked under it. When he finally backed away from the log, he got out and inspected the damage one last time.

“A few scratches on the bumper, but not many,” he said as he got back inside the car. “The cut on my head is just a scratch, too. We got off lucky. Real lucky.”

“This time.” Amy was shaking too violently to say more.

“Where do you live?”

“Off Enfield Road.”

He felt fine now, although he wasn't in the mood for conversation. Apparently, she wasn't either. She stared out her window, and he focused on the road. They drove south, back to town in tense silence. Ten minutes later when he pulled into the drive of the address she'd given him and he saw the tall, ultramodern limestone mansion and enormous, tiled pool, he whistled.

“Nice,” he said, his low tone a little edgy.

“All I've got is the garage apartment. The owner's a divorcee with a teenager. Cheryl lets me live here because I'm additional security.”

“Don't tell me your mother arranged this?”

“How did you know?”

He wrenched the keys from the ignition and turned and studied Amy's lovely white face that was framed by glimmering golden silky waves. Her eyes held fresh
guilt along with that deep, impenetrable sadness that always tore him in two.

“Easy,” he said as he got out. “She probably calls Cheryl from time to time to check up on you.”

“That's right.” Amy opened her door, and rock music blasted them.

He winced at the loud music, which was the last thing he needed. “Where the hell's that coming from?” he muttered.

“Kate's probably at the pool.”

“Kate?” Then he got it. “Right, the teenager.” He sighed. “Impossible species. They should all be exiled to another planet until they're twenty-one at least.”

“She lives in the main house with her mom.”

“She's a bit spoiled from the sound and look of it,” he said.

“It's not her fault.”

“Right. She's misunderstood by her mean old mom.”

“Her mean old dad.”

On their way to Amy's apartment, they had to pass the pool and the kid. Kate was curled up on a chaise longue, sipping a glass of iced tea. At least, he hoped it was tea. She had huge dark glasses, blue spiked hair and big pouty lips. Her yellow string bikini didn't cover much, so it was easy to count her piercings, of which she had way too many. Rings shot sparks at Steve from her navel, eyebrows, lips, ears and tongue as her blue head bobbed back in forth in time to the shrill beat of electronic vibrations that passed for music these days. The lyrics were streams of curses screamed at a shrill
volume loud enough to puncture the eardrums of any mammal unlucky enough to be within ten blocks.

“That music's obscene,” Steve said.

“She's just crying out for attention.”

“Lucky girl. She's about to get it. Introduce me, why don't you?” The nerves in his eye pulsed as savagely as the beat.

“Hi, Kate,” Amy yelled from her stairs. When Kate ignored her, Amy cupped her mouth with her hands and screamed, “This is my friend, Steve.”

Kate yawned and turned the music slightly lower. “What happened to your friend?” She pointed to her own right eye and then made a fist as if she was about to sock herself. “He get in a fight or something?”

“Or something,” Steve mumbled. “Kid, would you mind turning it down a little? Amy and I need to talk.”

Her pouty lips puffed up. “Did you get so fresh, she slapped you?”

That did it. Steve strode toward the pool. “Are you going to turn that down or not?”

“This is my house, you know,” Kate said sullenly. “You can't come here and order me around like I'm
your
kid or something.”

God help him, if his kid ever acted like her…

“Is your mother here? I'd like to talk to her.”

The kid's smirk held triumph. “She's out on a date.” Kate lifted her iced-tea glass in a mock toast.

“And she left you behind? I wonder why?”

“What do you know about anything?” The girl slammed her drink down so hard it spilled everywhere.

“I know if I lived next door I'd call the cops. That's
what you want, isn't it? Then your mom would have to come home.”

“What do you know about anything?”

“That's happened before,” Amy interjected.

Kate's lip protruded even further.

Steve walked up to the girl. “Turn that down.
Please.
”

Kate shook her blue spiky head. “If you don't like it, go home.” She twisted the knob and made it louder.

With one swift movement he grabbed the boom box and headed toward the deep end of the pool.

Kate got up and ran up to him. “Give that back!”

He dropped the boom box into the water. The music strangled after two gurgles.

“You can't do—” Kate bit her lip as he strode past her up the stairs to Amy's apartment.

He didn't look back at her as he climbed the stairs. “Sorry about that,” he said to Amy once he was inside the honey-colored walls of her apartment. “I don't know why she got to me. I guess I'm not much on letting kids call the shots.”

“It's my fault. I upset you, and you're hurt. There's a limit to what anybody can take. But she's not so bad. She's just a mixed-up little girl.”

“Who'll grow up into a mixed-up young woman. She's not so little anymore, either.”

“So you noticed the way she filled out that bikini?”

He ignored that. “If kids don't learn there are clear limits and consequences for bad behavior, they'll get worse and worse until they're—”

“Totally out of control,” Amy finished, a shadow of pain flashing across her narrow face “Her father left
Cheryl,” she said quietly. “He gives her zero attention. She's acting out.”

“Like you tonight.”

She hissed in a deep breath and turned toward the sink.

“What was that all about, Amy?”

“You're hurt,” she said as she rustled in a drawer until she found a clean dish towel. She ran water out of her kitchen tap until wisps of steam curled around her. Then she soaked the towel and squeezed soap onto it.

When she crossed the tiny kitchen and came up to him, she touched his face with the warm, wet towel. Carefully her hand smoothed the wayward lock of his hair out of the way. Even more gingerly she washed the skin beneath his eye. Soon because of her gentle care, his eye no longer throbbed. All he felt was a dizzying warmth due to her nearness.

“What's going on Amy?” he asked softly. “With you? Between us?”

Her eyes intense, she gazed up at him. “I told you. There can't be an us.”

“I want to know why.” He gave her a long look, which she returned. He had the feeling she couldn't stop staring at him any more than he could. She was so damn pretty and hurting so damn much. He was about to take her in his arms when her cell phone bleated.

She started, swallowing a quick, nervous breath. Then she took his hand and pressed it against the wet rag so that he would go on holding it against his brow. He grinned when she bent over to rummage in her purse for her phone. She
did
have a great butt.