The Wedding Favor (20 page)

Jack had saved him that time, tossed him a loop, wound the other end around his saddle horn and dragged him over the rim. But panic had almost killed him.

So yeah, this was panic. He was about to crack.

He had to get rid of Isabelle, and there was no polite way to do it. Reaching around her, he yanked open the door.

Then he took her shoulders, backed her into the hallway, and closed the door in her astonished face.

“W
hat a pretty sundress,” said Isabelle.

Vicky smiled happily. “Thank you, Mrs. Donohue. It’s my favorite.” Bright yellow flowers on a baby blue background. She glanced around the terrace where the caterers were laying brunch. “Have you seen Ty?”

“Um, he’s in his room. Taking a shower, I think.”

Phew. Silly to have panicked when she found her room empty. As if he would’ve up and run away after the amazing night they’d shared.

Then Isabelle touched her arm. “About Ty,” she began. Vicky gave her her full attention. “He can be—” Isabelle searched for the word. Before she could find it, one of the caterers signaled. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Vicky, and followed him to the kitchen.

A moment later, Winston limped through the door, heading for the coffee cart without noticing her. She almost wimped out and snuck away. Instead, to make a point, if only to herself, she lifted her chin and hobbled up beside him.

He looked, literally, twice as bad as Ty. Two black eyes, two visible bruises on his jaw. And the elbow he kept pinned to his side shouted cracked ribs from the rooftops.

She met his eye, refusing to shrink or to dwell on her split seam. His brows rose slightly. He looked her up and down. She expected derision, anger, insults. He surprised her utterly by stepping closer, running a finger lightly up the back of her arm.

For a moment, she froze. She used to love it when he did that. She’d believed it was affection. Now she knew it was affectation, probably cribbed from a manual on women’s erogenous zones.

Too bad he’d quit reading after chapter one.

He moved closer still. “Victoria,” he murmured, his voice low and deep.

She couldn’t believe it. He was hitting on her!

She wanted to laugh, but kept a straight face. “I just spent the night with the man who did that to your face. The competition’s over. He won. You lost.”

He took a step back. His split lip curled. “You stupid cow. Don’t you know he only screwed you to get to me? He’s jealous of me.”

God, he was an idiot. What had she ever seen in him? “Believe me, Tyrell Brown is not jealous of you.” She’d bet her 401(k) on that.

“Of course he is.” His sneer turned nastier. “Why else would he bother fucking an uptight bitch like you when that stripper’s panting after him, dying to spread her legs?”

If he hoped to shock her with his language, he failed. She cocked her head. “If I’m such an uptight bitch, then why are
you
so interested?”

“I’m
not
interested, not anymore. You look hot, Victoria, but you’re cold where it counts. Between the sheets. And you’re dull too,” he added for good measure. “Boring. You don’t know how to have fun, in the sack or out of it.”

His words hurt, but not as much as they used to. And knowing as she did that wounded pride was behind them, she didn’t let them stop her.

“You’re right,” she said disarmingly, “I didn’t have fun in bed with you. But I
definitely
had fun last night. It’s amazing how great sex is with a man who’s good at it. How
satisfying
.”

Winston’s jaw tightened. “Don’t blame your frigidness on me.”

There was that word again. She held on to her temper, barely. “Any problems we had were yours, not mine.”

He leaned in, his face lobster red. “Bullshit! You can’t even come!”

“Are you sure,
Winnie
? Maybe I just need more than
sixty seconds
to get there!”

Coffee sloshed from his cup. His eyes bulged, throwing sparks of fury as she met him glare for glare.

Then Matt appeared at her side. “Vicky, come have some breakfast.”

She glanced over at the table. People were gathering. “Okay. Sure.”

Matt aimed a cold stare at Winston. “You can take yours to go.”

For a moment Winston blustered, a thwarted bully. Then he slammed his cup down on the cart and stalked inside.

Jack and Lil had taken their seats, Pierre too, but before Vicky could join them, Adrianna appeared. She pounced immediately.

“I hope you’re happy.” Her voice was low and taut.

Vicky mimed looking thoughtful. “Hmm. Yup. Pretty happy at the moment.”

“And tomorrow? How will you feel tomorrow, when we have to withdraw from the appeal?”

“Relieved, that’s how I’ll feel. I never wanted to go to trial anyway. The case was a loser from the get-go. The appeal will be a loser too. I’m glad I don’t have to deal with it.” It was all true. The case never should have gone to a jury.

Adrianna’s lips formed a line as thin and flat as a dime. “I suppose you’ve deluded yourself that this thing with Brown has legs.”

Vicky shrugged, more nonchalant than she felt. “I guess I’ll find out.”

“He’ll break your heart, Victoria.”

Vicky did a double take. “You almost sound like you care, Mother.”

“Of course I care. Brown’s reputation precedes him. He may have loved his wife, but since she died he’s been up every skirt in Texas. Him and that Jack McCabe.” She flicked a glance at the table, where Jack had a hand on Lil’s belly, his awed expression saying louder than words that the baby was kicking against his palm.

Vicky grinned. “Yeah,
that
Jack McCabe. He’s a real monster.”

“Don’t be naïve, Victoria. You wear your heart on your sleeve, where everyone can see it when it breaks.”

“Look, Mother. I appreciate that you’re worried about me.” And she really did. Not that she was about to share her hopes and dreams about Ty, even if she knew what they were. But Adrianna didn’t usually express positive emotions, even in this backhanded way, so she didn’t want to discourage her. “I’m fine, though. I really am. Tyrell Brown isn’t going to break my heart.” Not after the connection they’d made last night.

Isabelle emerged from the kitchen and waved them over to the buffet. Starving from her sexathon, Vicky mounded a plate. The maid brought out two pitchers of mimosas that Isabelle got moving around the table. A few minutes later, Ricky and Annemarie appeared, showing all the signs of another all-nighter.

But there was no sign of Ty.

Vicky was halfway through her omelet before he surfaced. She tried to catch his eye to wave him into the seat beside her, but he headed straight to the buffet, then sat down with Jack and Lil. When he fell into conversation without meeting her eye, a chill wind blew through her.

Her appetite vanished; she set her fork on her plate. Even when he’d hated her, Ty had at least acknowledged her existence.

At last, he looked up and she caught his eye. Heart thudding uncomfortably, she managed an inquiring brow lift.

He smiled . . . politely . . . and turned back to Jack and Lil.

Uh-oh. Polite was one thing Ty had never been toward her. Suddenly, she couldn’t swallow the sip of juice she’d taken. It pooled on her tongue.

Something was very, very wrong.

Then logic kicked in. He wasn’t blowing her off. He didn’t know that her mother had already figured out that they’d spent the night together, so he was simply playing it cool, keeping the change in their relationship quiet so Adrianna wouldn’t make a stink.

She got the juice down. Everything was fine. Just fine.

She managed to make small talk with Isabelle for the longest twenty minutes of her life. Then Matt tapped his spoon on his glass. “Thanks, everybody,” he said, coming to his feet. “It’s been a great weekend, but now I’m going to take my
wife
”—he took Isabelle’s hand, smiling hugely—“to Greece for a couple of weeks. We’ll be busy”—his smile stretched even wider—“so don’t worry if you don’t hear from us for a while.” As applause broke out, he tugged Isabelle to her feet. “Safe trip, everybody,” he called over his shoulder.

And with that, the horrible, wonderful wedding weekend was over.

Talk turned to train schedules and flight times as everyone drifted away from the table. Vicky stayed behind, sure Ty would linger until everyone left, then make his way to her.

But he didn’t. He walked off with Jack without a backward glance.

Okay, now that was taking the whole sensitivity thing too far. It was sweet that he wanted to protect her from Adrianna, but the fact was, they’d shared an incredible night of teasing, laughter, and mutual orgasms. She’d already spilled the beans to Winston, and now that Matt and Isabelle were safely on their way, she didn’t care who else knew about it.

Hobbling into the chateau, she cut through the kitchen and into the foyer, planning to hop up the stairs after Ty.

But he was already heading down, suitcase in hand, furtive look in his eyes. He stopped at the bottom when he saw her.

“Hey,” he said, lamely.

She swallowed, barely, around the lump in her throat. “I guess you’re leaving.”

“Yup.” He hefted his bag uncomfortably.

“No good-bye? Just . . .” She fluttered her fingers. “Just . . . gone?”

“Got a plane to catch.” He dropped his eyes.

She nodded slowly. “Okay. Well. Don’t let me keep you.” Her voice sounded thin, like she wasn’t getting enough air in her lungs to push it out. She took a deep breath, tried to beef it up. “Have a safe trip.” She hobbled around him, hopped up two stairs before he said her name.

She stopped. Turned. Got one last look into warm brown eyes shot through with gold before he dropped a peck on her cheek, quick and dry-lipped. Sexless and final. And then he walked out the door.

She stood alone, all alone, and watched him go, watched the door fall closed behind him. That icy wind blew through her again. She shuddered, actually shuddered, in pain.

And out of the library stepped Winston, leather tome in his hand, odious smirk on his face. He’d obviously heard every word.

She turned and fled as fast as her broken toe could carry her.

Chapter Eighteen

I
t had to be a hundred and twenty degrees inside Ty’s truck.

He snarled at himself. If he hadn’t dawdled around after the trial like he always did, then he wouldn’t have run so late for his flight to Paris that he had to park his truck outside to roast in the sun for four days.

He slung his bag into the bed and sat his ass on the blistering seat. Scorching air blasted from the AC. Too ornery to wait for it to cool down, he dropped the windows—for all the good it did in the Texas heat—gripped the red-hot steering wheel and peeled out of the lot.

The flight home had been pure hell. After pulling the biggest dick move of his life by running out on Vicky without even telling her why, first class was wasted on him. Whiskey didn’t help. Filet didn’t help. He couldn’t sleep. Not to mention that every inch of his body throbbed from Winston’s pounding. To add to his misery, he’d had a bitch of a layover in D.C., then gotten bumped to a red-eye for the flight to Houston. Now his neck had a crick that meant a trip to the chiropractor.

All in all, it had been the very worst part of a very shitty weekend. The sooner he got back to the ranch—and Brescia—the better.

He drove like a bat out of hell, the memory of Vicky’s wounded eyes chasing him all the way, but still it was mid-afternoon before he pulled up the dusty driveway. The low-slung ranch house, with its wide front porch shaded by two pecan trees, was a sight for sore eyes. Stopping the truck in the wide spot that passed for a parking area, he flicked a glance over the barns, the paddock, the bunkhouse with the tiny business office at one end. It looked hard-used and sturdy, like it had stood for a hundred years and would stand for a hundred more. He couldn’t understand why he’d ever left it, even for a weekend. If he had his way, he’d never leave it again.

He grabbed his bag from the bed and headed for the office. Joe came out to meet him. “Hey, boss. How was the wedding?”

“Pretty as a picture.” He sounded surly and didn’t care. “Where’s Brescia?”

“Clancy said to keep her in her stall for now.”

Ty dropped his bag and strode off toward the barn.

Brescia had prime accommodations near the sliding double doors that opened into the paddock, specifically selected by Ty so she could keep an eye on things even when confined to her stall. She must have heard him coming, because she poked her head over the half door and snorted out a welcome through her nose.

A dun-colored beauty with a black mane and tail, she was so pretty it was easy to forget that she had some age on her. “Hello, baby.” He stroked her velvet nose, fished in his pocket for the cherry Life Savers he usually carried for her, then remembered he was wearing his traveling clothes. “I’ll bring you a treat later, pretty girl.” He reached around to scratch her jaw. “Now what’s all this about bloodworms?”

She butted his shoulder with her heavy head, then let it droop. He couldn’t believe it. Just over a week ago they’d ridden a hundred miles, camping out in the hills before the trial. Now her coat was dull, her eyes bleary.

His chest constricted; tears welled in his eyes. He couldn’t lose Brescia too. He couldn’t.

He heard Joe clomping through the barn. Blotting his eyes on his sleeve, he called over his shoulder, “Go and call Clancy, will you? Tell him to swing by on his way home.”

“Sure thing.” Joe clomped away.

Ty stepped into the stall, closing himself in with Brescia. Gently, he ran his hands over her coat, pausing when he felt the swelling in her belly. Dropping his forehead against her warm, sturdy neck, he let the tears come. His whole body shook with them.

“Please, Brescia.” He choked the words into her mane. “Please don’t die.”

“G
oddamn it, Clancy, how the hell did we get bloodworms in this neck of the woods?”

Clancy pulled out his pouch, spent a long minute packing his lip.

Ty bit down on his cheek. Why hadn’t he ever noticed how loooooong it took Texans to get to the point? It must’ve driven Vicky nuts when she was down for the trial.

Clancy adjusted his dip with his tongue, tucked the pouch back into his pocket. “Bloodworms aren’t uncommon, Ty. You’re lucky to have avoided ’em this long.”

“You check my other horses?”

“Except the ones out on the range. They’re clean.” Clancy gave him a bland look. “I expect Brescia picked ’em up over at Molly’s place. That new chestnut she brought in has ’em bad. I’m headed over there to dose him now.”

Guilt shoved its barbed point a little deeper in Ty’s belly. He should’ve expected that Clancy would know about him and Molly. The vet was a regular at every ranch in the Hill Country. Nothing got past him.

“You got a copy of that treatment schedule?”

“Yup.” Like a man moving through molasses, Clancy ambled to his truck. Took some papers off the front seat. Sifted through them. “Here it is.” He handed a sheet to Ty. “You’ll have to keep a close eye on her. And if she pulls through, you’ll have to watch out she doesn’t get reinfected.” Climbing in, he favored Ty with a last weighty look. “You go visiting Molly again, you’d best bring your truck and leave your stock at home.”

“T
yrell, honey, Clancy told me you were back.”

“Come on in, Molly.” He opened the screen door to let her inside, took the casserole she handed him. “Smells good.”

“Chicken divan. My specialty. Well,
one
of my specialties.” She batted big green eyes. He’d already sampled her other specialty, the fifteen-minute, deep-throat, porn-star blowjob.

Why, oh why, had he ever gone there with her? Not that she wasn’t a great girl. Smart and sexy and full of fun, with glossy black hair that swung in loose, lustrous waves around her shapely shoulders. She’d had a crush on him since ninth grade. He’d never had occasion to do anything about it in high school, and by the time he came home from college, he was with Lissa, and Molly had married the other high school football star.

But four months ago, on the day her divorce became final, she’d celebrated by asking him over to dinner. And like an idiot, he’d accepted.

It went about like he expected, except Molly was a lot more enthusiastic than he ever imagined. Said she was on a mission to fuck in every room of her house; a cleansing ritual, she called it. So they did. It took all night and he’d had a real good time, but even as he rode Brescia home in the breaking dawn, he was already regretting it.

Because Molly was definitely looking for a new husband, and he was definitely
not
looking for a new wife.

Now she set her hands on her hips and did a slow turn, checking out his kitchen.

Given that avocado appliances had gone out in the seventies, it needed some updating. But it was clean and cozy. He liked it. And Lissa had loved it.

Molly, not so much. “Your grandma must’ve ordered these out of the 1960 Sears catalogue.” She smiled at him, taking any sting out it. “If you want, I can help you pick out something modern. Maybe stainless steel.”

“That’s nice of you, but I’m sort of attached to these.” He smiled too, taking any sting out of it.

He really didn’t want to discuss his kitchen, especially when he could tell she was mentally redecorating it to match her dishes, so he set the casserole on the counter. “You’re a sweetheart to drop by, but I was just on my way out.”

“But you just got home!” She looked hurt. “Honestly, Ty, I haven’t seen you in months, what with you being in Houston all the time for the trial and then jetting off to France.” She sauntered toward him, swinging her shapely hips. “Why, the last time I saw you—”

“—I had a real nice time.” He cut her off politely but firmly. “And in case I didn’t tell you, you’re a heck of a cook, honey.” Cupping her elbow, he steered her gently toward the door. “Don’t tell my mama I said so, but your beef stew is the best I ever had.” He kept her moving out onto the porch. “And your lemon meringue pie, well, you be sure to enter it in the pie-baking contest come Labor Day. I’m judging this year, and I don’t see how you can lose.” He tucked her into her red Mustang. “I’ll give you a call, honey, and we’ll get together real soon. Bye, now.”

Watching the rooster tail of dust rise up behind her, he blew out a sigh. He’d have to let her down gently, and soon, but between an epic case of jet lag and everything else that was chewing at him, he just plain wasn’t up to the task today.

Trudging back to the house, he daydreamed about kicking back in his recliner with a cold one and falling asleep to the ball game. But, for sure, Molly would drive by later just to verify he’d gone out. So after checking on Brescia one more time, he climbed wearily into his truck and headed for Fredericksburg to scare up a burger at the Horseshoe.

In the last few years, Fredericksburg had become a mecca for tourists, with gift shops and froufrou eating establishments popping up around town. But the Horseshoe hadn’t changed a bit. It was, and always would be, a classic Texas roadhouse.

He pushed open the door and Hank Williams met him halfway, “Your Cheatin’ Heart” crooning from the jukebox. Up on the low plywood stage, Jimbo and the boys were setting up, the usual Monday night band. A flyspecked poster on the wall behind them advertised 357, an old band of Jack’s. Back in the day, they’d played the Horseshoe a hundred times and gotten into a hundred fistfights. Ty had loved every minute of it.

Bellying up to the bar, he slapped down a fifty and called to the bartender. “Buster, bring me a longneck, will you?”

Buster swung around, all six-foot-seven, three hundred and ninety pounds of him, and broke out in a grin. “Tyrell fuckin’ Brown, where the hell you been, boy?”

“Paris, France. At the nuptials of our sweet Isabelle.”

“No shit!” Buster plunked a frosty Bud on the bar. “Always thought you two would get hitched.” He wagged his head. “She shore is a pretty little thing. Don’t know nothin’ ’bout music, but we coulda educated her.”

“I doubt she’d ever have taken to country music.” Ty sucked down a swig, wiped his lips with the back of a hand. “But you’re right about the rest of it. She sure is a pretty little thing.”

The crowd was thin, it being a Monday. On the flat screen above the bar, the Astros trailed by five. Ty watched the game on and off as he worked through a burger with everything and a side of cheese fries, washing them down with another beer. He ordered some leaves and twigs too, in the form of a salad, causing Buster’s eyes to widen in surprise, and he picked at it between bites of juicy beef.

Down the bar, a Texas cutie in skintight jeans and snakeskin boots was making eye contact. He called Buster over. “What’ve we got here?”

Buster leaned on an elbow, lowered his booming voice. “That, my friend, is the brand-new third-grade teacher. Been in town a couple months. Drops in every Monday night to tap her toes to Jimbo’s band. Orders a turkey club and eats half. Sucks down two vodka martinis.” He grinned at Ty. “She’s been looking, but she ain’t seen nothing she likes. Until tonight.”

Ty glanced down the bar. Met her eyes and gave her a slow smile. No time like the present to start putting Vicky behind him. “Set her up with another one of those martinis, Buster. On me.”

I
t would be so easy. Jessie’s place was right around the corner, as she’d made a point of dropping into the conversation twice already. If Ty wanted to, he could peel her jeans off by ten and still be home in time to catch the end of the game.

But he wasn’t into it. And it was a damn shame, because she was a nice, normal girl with no apparent hang-ups. She didn’t seem worried that two drinks might kill her, or that the bacon on her sandwich would cause brain cancer.

She was real pretty, too. Blue eyes. A lighter shade than Vicky’s, but warm and bright. Blond hair. Not straight and silky, and it didn’t fall like a curtain around her shoulders. But it was thick and wavy and would probably be soft if he ran his fingers through it. And she had the big, ripe breasts that men drooled over.

She even got his jokes, which wasn’t the case with every woman. Some of them wouldn’t know sarcasm if it waved a banner and sang “Yankee Doodle.” But she didn’t have any jokes of her own. No snappy comebacks, no razor-sharp put-downs. No witty banter at all.

Basically, she bored him.

He knew he wasn’t giving her a fair shot, comparing her to Vicky like he was. But he couldn’t help himself. Vicky was one of a kind, and the truth was, nailing the schoolteacher wouldn’t help him forget her. Vicky’d stuck in his mind like a burr, and there was no unsticking her.

He stood up. “Jessie, honey, it’s been real nice meeting you.” He signaled to Buster, tapped a finger on the fifty.

She sat up straighter. “You’re leaving? But the band just started up. I thought maybe we could dance.” She gave him a bright smile, all white teeth and cherry lips.

He did a rueful headshake. “Got a sick horse at home, sugar. I need to tuck her in.”

“Where do you live?”

He cut that off at the pass. “With my mama. She’ll be waiting up for me.” He smiled easily, the good son. “We like our hot chocolate together before we turn in.”

Her expression was priceless. Taking advantage of her shock to scoop up his change, he left a ten on the bar, called out to Buster, “I’ll tell Mama you’ll be dropping by.”

Buster’s brows shot up but he was quicker than he looked. “Next Sunday after church,” he called.

Ty dropped a neighborly kiss on the schoolteacher’s cheek and went home to sleep alone.