The Talented Mr. Maxwell

by Julia Harlow

  “Grant?” No answer. The line was dead. If he hadn’t sounded so angry, Dorrie might have wondered if they’d been cut off by accident. But he’d actually hung up on her. It was so unlike Grant. She tried to shake off the queasy feeling in her stomach as she walked out of the restroom. What would she do if they weren’t friends anymore? She couldn’t imagine not having his friendship. A rush of emotion overtook her just as Cody glanced up at her.

  An older man and woman were standing over him while he autographed a photo for them. His eyes were on still on Dorrie when the man asked, “So are the Stallions going to have a better record this season than the Sidewinders?”

  “No doubt about it with our new offensive coordinator. Thank y’all for stopping by.”

  Cody stood up and made his way to Dorrie. “You all right?”

  “Fine. Are you ready to leave? I’d like to pick up my car and go back to my hotel.”

  “Sure.” He placed his big hand on the small of her back as they made their way out of the Wagon Wheel and to his truck. After he’d helped her up into the seat and hopped up effortlessly to take his own seat, he asked, “Where’re you staying?”

  “The Stafford Inn.”

  They drove in silence back toward Dallas. Dorrie resisted the urge to lean her head against the window. She just couldn’t shake this sick feeling that something was wrong with Grant. He was upset with her, and she had no idea why other than he wasn’t a fan of Cody Carlton. Without realizing it, she was twisting the edge of her jacket into a tight spiral when Cody broke the silence.

  “I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you, Dorrie. Is it something I said or did?” His voice was softer than she’d heard it before.

  “No. It’s nothing. I’m just overly tired from the trip out here.” It wasn’t really a lie because she was tired. But it wasn’t the honest truth. She needed time alone. Maybe she’d call Grant again and find out why he’d hung up on her. That was certainly preferable to obsessing about it non-stop.

  Her mind was in such a state that she didn’t realize that they were back at Stallions headquarters until Cody had opened the passenger door and offered his hand to her. He helped her down and walked her to her rental car.

  “Look. Why don’t you rest up for a bit and give me a call when you’re ready. I’ll show you around my favorite spots in Dallas, and you can tell me about the interview timetable and all that.”

  It took an effort for her to smile up at him and offer weakly, “Okay.”

  In her room at the Stafford Inn, she kicked off her heels and sank down in an overstuffed chair, dialing Grant only to get his voicemail. The more she thought about their conversation, the more she felt certain she’d done nothing wrong. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, he didn’t want her to write a biography of Cody Carlton, Jr. Well too damn bad. He was with Carly Ann now. It wasn’t as if she were dating the quarterback, for goodness sake. Her cheeks felt hot as her temper flared up, and she chucked her phone on the table where is skittered across. To hell with him and his macho double standard. He was the one who encouraged her to go back to work in the first place.

  She changed into black slacks and a white blouse, collected her room card and some cash, and decided to take a walk to calm down. Once out on the sidewalk, the spring breeze teasing her loose curls, she breathed in a deep breath and sighed. How long was she going to allow Grant Maxwell to rule her emotions? No, he ruled more than just her emotions; he ruled her life. She’d told herself a dozen times that he’d moved on, but she couldn’t deny that she still held out secret hope that he cared for her as more than a friend. If she held on to that pathetic dream, she’d never get past him having this power over her. Just thinking about how his anger had paralyzed her in the middle of a session with Cody Carlton made her crazy. He was being irrational.

  Carly Ann being all wrong for him had become a moot point in her mind. She wasn’t going to interfere if Grant didn’t realize that for himself. After Dorrie had found out Grant was going to marry Carly Ann, she’d had a long talk with Blanche to find out everything she knew about her. It wasn’t a pretty picture. Blanche remembered hearing that Carly Ann was trying to pick up sugar daddies when she worked at the Fox & Crow and that she’d hit the jackpot with Dwayne Wright, Jr. Then she’d disappeared with a fat wad of his money, money she’d claimed was for college tuition. Blanche was good friends with the secretary of the school board and knew firsthand that Carly Ann had dropped out of school at age fifteen. Information about Carly Ann had become sketchy after that, but she’d been sighted once or twice working in Southern restaurants, pulling the same scam with well-to-do men.

  While Dorrie felt sorry for Carly Ann’s less-than-stellar upbringing, she felt worse for Grant being sucked into her vortex. But what was the use in telling him if he didn’t see it for himself. If he was bowled over by her superficial beauty and fake charm, it was his own damn stupidity. She really thought he was savvier than that.

  The aroma of something delectable wafted past her. She’d been so caught up in the nettles of these thoughts that she hadn’t paid attention to where she was going, and as she glanced around, she realized she had no idea where she was. But it didn’t take long to find the source of the delicious aroma: a tiny beignet bakery. She wandered through the open doorway, her eyes fixating on a warm beignet being expertly dredged though confectioner’s sugar by young man wearing a white coat. On the chalkboard suspended above the counter, she read the assorted beignets on the menu and felt the saliva pool in her mouth: chocolate-frosted, vanilla frosted, cream-filled, chocolate-filled, and plain. Fortunately, she’d thought to bring some cash along because she had to try one. She decided to go purist and order a plain one, so she joined the long line to wait her turn.

  Afterwards, she stood on the sidewalk outside the bakery and sank her teeth into the warm beignet. Her eyelids fluttered as the perfect blend of powdered sugar and warm pastry melted on her tongue, teasing her taste buds. It was almost better than sex. Even though she tried hard to contain the powdered sugar to the napkin, it was hopeless, and she brushed the white specks off her blouse.

  It was starting to get dark. The young man in the bakery had just flipped the closed sign on the door and clicked the lock. She couldn’t see a street sign, not that it mattered because she didn’t know much about Dallas. Why hadn’t she brought her phone? She could have called The Stafford Inn to get directions back to the hotel. It suddenly seemed to Dorrie that every person she passed on the sidewalk was staring at her with malicious intent, but she told herself she was just being paranoid.

  Backtracking her route to the inn proved a disaster because her sense of direction was nonexistent. Panic began to well up in her as she realized the lights were out in all storefronts she rushed past. If just one were open, she could call the inn or ask a shopkeeper for directions. Suddenly, the roar of a motorcycle made her jump, and her heart pounded in her chest. She’d really screwed up this time. And it was all Grant’s fault.

  The sound of an engine following slowly behind her caused perspiration to trickle down between her breasts. She ignored it and picked up her pace. Then she heard someone croon, “Are you lost, little girl?”

  Chapter 19

  It was a voice she’d heard recently. Turning her head, Dorrie sagged with relief at the sight of Cody Carlton’s dusty black pickup. He was behind the wheel, his elbow resting on the window opening. When she didn’t move, he nodded toward the passenger seat. “C’mon. Hop in.”

  Making her way to the passenger side, Dorrie took the door handle just as he leaned across the seat and opened it for her. In her slacks, she climbed easily up onto the seat.

  “Where’re you headed?” His deep voice sounded casual, but she detected a hint of concern in it. He turned to face her, stretching his arm over the back of the seat and folding one knee on the seat.

  “How did you find me?”

  “You were supposed to call me after you rested up, remember? When you didn’t, I called the
Stafford Inn and talked to a girl who just happens to be a fan. She told me you’d left on foot and turned right out the inn’s front door.” He still hadn’t pulled away from the curb. “Let me guess: you’ve been sampling one of our city’s best treasures.” With a light touch, his long finger swiped a dab of powdered sugar off the tip of her nose. “Did you get me one?”

  Dorrie couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. “Sorry. I’d get you one now, but they’re closed.”

  Cody chuckled. “No problem. It’s time for a beer anyway. Want to see one of my favorite haunts? You can add it to your notes about me.”

  After the way Grant had acted, she was more inclined to take him up on his suggestion. It wasn’t exactly the most prudent idea to go to a bar alone at night with Cody, but what the hell. She glanced over at him as he began to pull away, one wrist draped over the steering wheel, a country western song playing softly on the truck’s sound system. He’d changed into a pale yellow Polo shirt and still wore his jeans but no ball cap. His dark blond hair was damp and combed over to one side. Now that her heartbeat and wits had returned to normal after being lost and scared, she caught the scent of soap and clean clothes.

  “Okay, but first I need to freshen up and get my laptop and phone.”

  He grinned, flashing perfect white teeth and a killer smile that made her struggle for breath. “You look plenty fresh to me, but if you want to stop a minute, that’s fine. Where were you goin’, anyway?”

  “Just for a walk. I guess I walked too far and have no sense of direction whatsoever. Then I got distracted by the beignet bakery, and it was dark when I realized . . . Anyway, thanks for coming to look for me, Cody.”

  “You really should be more careful in a strange city at night and always take your phone with you. The place where you were is not the most savory spot in downtown Dallas.” His voice had a protective edge, and Dorrie realized he was truly concerned about her.

  After a quick stop at the inn for Dorrie to collect her phone and laptop, stuff them in her leather tote, brush out her long waves, and change into black heels, they took off for Cody’s favorite watering hole.

  The Country Corral looked like a place Dorrie wouldn’t go into for a drink if she’d been stranded in the desert for a month. Located on the outskirts of Dallas, it was a ramshackle building that seemed to have missed a decade or more of upkeep. The fact that the parking lot on this Friday night was jam-packed with new model pickup trucks, BMWs, Mercedes, and a smattering of Jaguars and Lamborghinis did little to ease her reservations.

  Cody seemed to sense her unease, and taking her elbow as he led her to the entrance, he leaned down to say, “Just stick by me and you’ll be fine.”

  A waft of stale beer and ages-old nicotine assaulted Dorrie the moment she stepped inside. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Wide plank wood floors, a long bar spreading across the left wall, and a decent-sized dance floor made up the interior. A country western singer crooned Eagles-like along with a band on the right side. Round tables with bentwood chairs were dotted around the remaining area. Various baseball games played on televisions over the bar, but few people seemed to be paying attention to them.

  Cody ushered her to a table in a corner where five burly men sat drinking beer and laughing. After a chorus of “Cody, m’ man,” he pointed to each man in turn. “Colton, Zaff, Kenny, J. P., and Housch: my offensive line. Without them, I wouldn’t be standin’ here. This lovely lady is Dorrie Applegate. She’s writin’ my biography.” He scowled around the table before adding, “And that doesn’t mean it’s open season for spillin’ all my dirty secrets.”

  As he held out a chair for her, the five men nodded their hellos. When her eyes met Cody’s, she gave them a dramatic roll.

  “What?”

  Leaning close to him, she seethed, “I thought we were going to work.”

  “We will. Eventually. What do you want to drink?”

  “Since I’m working, I’ll just have water.”

  Cody mumbled, “Like hell you will. Sit.”

  She sighed and sank down on the bentwood, realizing that the increased salary she’d negotiated with Omni wasn’t nearly enough for this level of aggravation. And she’d thought Grant was a tough subject. So far, all she knew about Cody Carlton could be found on the Stallions website. Writing fiction was starting to look more appealing by the minute.

  She had no intention of taking a drink from the longneck in front of her. She didn’t even like beer. But she did like the song the band was playing and began to tap her spiked heels to the beat.

  Cody grinned down at her. “See. This is nice. Now I know you like country music.”

  “I like many kinds of music. And what’s nice about you getting to know me when I’m supposed to be writing your flipping biography!” The chair legs scraped against the planked floor as she pushed back to leave.

  Before she’d taken two steps, Cody’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm. Dorrie struggled to pull away, but he tightened his grip. Pulling her back toward him, he whispered in her ear, “Dance with me.” She felt his warm breath in her ear and shivered. As his big frame loomed over her, it occurred to her that he was even taller than Grant.

  “Forget it. I do not want to dance with you.”

  “How do you know if you don’t try?” His hazel eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at her, obviously relishing the challenge her rejection presented.

  She bristled at her sensual reaction to him. “Here’s a newsflash for you, Cody. If you’d cooperated and gotten some work done instead of stalling and screwing around, I might be inclined to socialize a bit. As it is, this is a total waste of my time. You let me know when and if you’re ready to work. Otherwise, I’ll assume you and your PR people don’t want a Celebrities Today biography of Cody Carlton.” She yanked her arm out of his grasp and marched toward the door.

  Their interaction had drawn the attention of many people in the bar, and someone yelled, “That’s not the usual reaction you get from the ladies, Cody. Losin’ your touch?”

  Dorrie was out the door before she remembered she hadn’t driven. She rubbed her fingers across her forehead in an attempt to soothe her pounding headache. Then she heard the door bang behind her and the crunch of cowboy boots on crumbling asphalt. A big hand clasped her shoulder.

  “Just calm down a minute, will you? Christ, you’re awful edgy for such a sweet girl. Listen, how ’bout we sit in my truck for a while and you tell me about this project. I’ll answer any questions you have, and then, if you feel like it, we’ll go back in and have some Texas barbeque and maybe dance a little. Okay?”

  Heaving a sigh, Dorrie pulled away. “We’ll try it for a few minutes. Honestly, you’ve given me such a headache I don’t know if I can think straight.”

  “I got some ibuprofen in the glove box. C’mon.” With his hand on the small of her back, they headed to the pickup.

  ~~~

  Cody proved to be as good as his word. Two ibuprofen and an hour and a half later, Dorrie was feeling much better about this project. Cody had not only listened to the outline and parameters, but he’d contributed some valuable input. He’d also answered enough questions for her to have a solid start on his biography. In fact, he’d been more than forthcoming about his bleak early years living with a father who had a serious gambling problem and an emotionally frail mother. Caring for his mother, Lily, and two younger sisters had fallen on Cody’s shoulders at a young age when his father’s gambling had escalated into full-blown addiction.

  The devastation this wrought was multi-faceted. Cody had idolized his father. Cody Sr. was athletic, smart, good-looking, and charismatic. Wherever he went, people were drawn to his wit and outgoing personality. He always had an entourage of folks around him. Cody Jr. thought he was the most amazing dad a kid could have. He worked at Ben Farr Cadillac outside Austin, Texas, so the family always had a big, cool Cadillac to tool around in.

  Then it all started to fall apart. It was s
o gradual Cody couldn’t pinpoint the exact year, but Cody Sr. started to disappear for a couple of days at a time, and when he returned, he seemed dejected and wouldn’t look Cody or his mom in the eye. His job was in jeopardy because he’d called off work so often. His mom watched every penny she spent for groceries and the kids’ clothes and shoes, but eventually she didn’t have the rent money for their three-bedroom Cape Cod on the outskirts of Austin.

  Lily had fits of anxiety, as Cody referred to them, probably caused by depression, but no one at that time consulted a doctor. She just kept to her room in the two-bedroom apartment and slept a lot. Cody delivered papers, raked leaves, did odd jobs for neighbors—anything to earn money and help his mom. He thought if he could just make enough, everything would go back to the way it used to be.

  Eventually, his dad disappeared altogether, and the four of them moved in with Lily’s sister and her husband. Cody’s grades slipped along with his mother’s last shaky grip on her pride. His early teen years were a blur of petty thefts, smoking and drinking, and falling in with a bad crowd.

  If it hadn’t been for the willingness of his junior high school football coach to take Cody in hand and mentor him, Cody wasn’t sure where he would have ended up, but he knew it wouldn’t have been good. Dorrie had read interviews with Coach Monroe, who credited Cody’s staunch work ethic and innate smarts for his success not only on the football field but also in his academics.

  When Cody abruptly stopped talking, Dorrie realized two things: first, her feelings toward him had softened considerably, and second, she was glad she’d chosen to write Cody Carton, Jr.’s biography, because he had overcome adversity and not merely survived, but prevailed.

  “Wanna go in now?”

  “Well, I am pretty hungry.” Dorrie’s smile was genuine.

  Back in the now-packed Country Corral, Cody ordered for them, and after they’d filled up on barbeque, he pulled Dorrie on to the dance floor.

  “I can’t really dance.” Her protests were ignored as he drew her close to his body. Dorrie tried to keep some space between them, but he pulled her tight against him. He felt hard all over and smelled so clean. Before she knew it, she melted against him and felt his body relax. She had no idea what dance they were doing, but just followed his lead. She noted that he was quite masterful, and the two glasses of wine she’d consumed had her wondering about his masterfulness in places other than the football field and dance floor.