Sawyer had been inspecting one of the oversize drivers on display, and as he stepped forward he held it loosely across his body. His formal dress didn’t disguise how haggard he looked, as if he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for some time. Bobby Tom struggled to control his antipathy. Despite Sawyer’s announcement about Rosatech, he would never like this man. He was a cold, hard-hearted son of a bitch who’d cheat his own grandmother if he saw the need.
He pushed aside the fleeting impression that right now Sawyer looked more tired than ruthless.
“What can I do for you?” he said coldly.
“I want to talk to you about your mother.”
It was exactly the subject they needed to discuss, but Bobby Tom felt himself bristling. “There’s nothing to talk about. You stay away from her, and everything’ll be fine.”
“I’ve been staying away from her. Has that made things better? Is she happy?”
“You’re damn right she is. Happy as I’ve ever seen her.”
“You’re lying.”
Despite his words, Bobby Tom heard the uncertainty in Sawyer’s voice and took advantage of it. “The last time we talked, she was excited about taking a cruise and adding some new plants to her garden. She’s been so busy with her friends and projects it’s hard for us to find time to get together.”
Sawyer’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, and his fingers grew lax on the club he was holding, but Bobby Tom didn’t relent. Somehow this man had hurt his mother, and he had to make certain it didn’t happen again. “As far as I could tell, she didn’t have a care in the world.”
“I see.” Sawyer cleared his throat. “She misses your father very much.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
Sawyer rested the head of the club on the carpet. “You look just like him, you know. The last time I saw him he was only eighteen or nineteen, but the resemblance is still strong.”
“That’s what people say.”
“I hated his guts.”
“I don’t imagine he was too fond of you, either.”
“Hard to tell. If he disliked me, he never showed it, even though I sure gave him cause. He was so damned nice to everybody.”
“Then why did you hate him?” The question slipped out despite his intention to remain detached.
Sawyer ran his hand along the club’s grip. “My mother cleaned your grandmother’s house for a while, did you know that? This was before she gave up on life and found another way to make a living.” He paused, and Bobby Tom thought of the story he’d been telling women for years about his mother being a hooker. It had all been one big joke to him, but it hadn’t been a joke to Sawyer, and despite his dislike of the man, he felt a sense of shame.
Sawyer went on. “Your dad and I were the same age, but he was bigger, and when we were about in sixth, seventh grade, your grandmother used to give my mother all his old clothes. I had to go to school in your father’s hand-me-downs, and I was so jealous of him, sometimes I thought I was going to choke on it. Every day he saw me coming to school in his castoffs, and he never said a word about it. Not one word. Not to me, not to anybody. The other kids noticed, though, and they’d taunt me about it. ‘Hey, Sawyer, isn’t that Hoyt’s old plaid shirt you’ve got on.’ If your dad was around, he’d just shake his head and say, hell, no, that wasn’t his shirt; he’d never seen the damned thing before. Jesus, I hated him for that. If only he’d thrown my poverty in my face, I could have fought him. But he never did, and looking back on it, I don’t think it was in his nature. In a lot of ways, I believe he may have been the best man I ever knew.”
Bobby Tom felt a sense of pride as overwhelming as it was unexpected. And then, almost immediately, a devastating sense of loss. He steeled himself to show none of those emotions. “But you still hated him.”
“Envy’ll do that to you. In high school I once broke into his locker and stole his school jacket. I don’t think he ever figured out it was me. I couldn’t wear the damned thing, of course; didn’t even want to. But I took it over by the tracks and burned it, so he’d never be able to wear it again. Maybe I thought getting rid of it would erase all his accomplishments, or maybe I just couldn’t stand watching him drape it over your mother’s shoulders when they were walking home. Damned thing used to come almost to her knees.”
This vision of his parents as high school kids made Bobby Tom feel strangely disoriented. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? My mother.”
“I guess it always has been.” His eyes clouded, as if his thoughts were far away. “She was so pretty. She doesn’t think so because she had braces until the end of her sophomore year and that’s all she remembers, but take it from me, she was pretty as a picture, braces and all. And she was like your dad, nice to everybody.” He laughed with genuine amusement. “Everybody but me. One day she met up with me in the hallway when nobody was around. She was taking something to the office for a teacher, I guess, and I was cutting class. I flipped up my collar and slouched against one of the lockers like a no-good punk. I gave her my best badass squint and looked her up and down, probably scared her half to death. I remember her hands started to shake around the paper she was holding, but she stared at me dead-on. ‘Wayland Sawyer, if you don’t want to end up a bum on the streets, you’d better get yourself to class right this minute.’ A spunky lady, your mama.”
It was hard to hold on to his antipathy in the face of such relentless honesty, but Bobby Tom reminded himself that Sawyer wasn’t a teenage punk any longer and this time the threat he posed to his mother was real.
“It’s one thing for a kid to scare her,” he said quietly. “It’s another for a grown man. Tell me what you did to her.”
Bobby Tom didn’t really expect him to answer, and he wasn’t surprised when Sawyer turned away without responding and walked over to the wooden rack. When he’d put the golf club back in place, he leaned against the counter, but despite his casual posture, his body was tense. Bobby Tom felt himself growing more alert, as if he were about to take a hit.
Sawyer gazed up at the ceiling and swallowed hard. “I let her believe I’d close Rosatech unless she became my mistress.”
An explosion went off inside Bobby Tom. He shot across the room, arm drawn back, ready to kill the fucking son of a bitch, only to stop before he reached him as a cold and lethal sense of purpose took the place of his rage. He grabbed the lapels of the older man’s jacket. “She’d better have told you to go to hell.”
Sawyer cleared his throat. “No. No, she didn’t.”
“I’m going to kill you.” Bobby Tom’s hands convulsed on the jacket, and he threw Sawyer against the counter.
Sawyer grabbed his wrists. “Just hear me out. You can do that much.”
Bobby Tom needed to know the rest, and he forced himself to let go, although he didn’t move back. His voice was low and deadly. “Start talking.”
“I never said that to her, but it’s what she thought I meant, and I waited too long to tell her the truth. Believe it or not, the world outside Telarosa thinks I’m a fairly decent guy, and I thought if we spent some time together, she’d see that. But things got out of hand.”
“You raped her.”
“No!” For the first time Sawyer’s anger flared, and his eyes narrowed. “You can believe a lot of things about me, Denton, but don’t you ever believe that. What happened between us is none of your damned business, but I’ll tell you this—there wasn’t any force involved.”
Bobby Tom felt sick. He didn’t want to think about his mother that way under any circumstances. But much worse, he couldn’t abide the idea that she had willingly given herself to Sawyer, not when she was married to his dad, not while Hoyt Denton’s memory was still alive.
As abruptly as it had erupted, Sawyer’s anger seemed to fade. “There wasn’t any force involved, but it was too soon for her, and I knew it. She still loves your father very much; he was a hell of a man, and I can’t blame her for that. But he’s not here anymore, an
d I am. She’s lonely. She wants to care about me, too, except she won’t let herself, and I think it’s mainly because of you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You’re the most important person in her life, and she’d cut off her arm before she hurt you.”
“I want you to stay away from her.”
Sawyer regarded him with open hostility. “I hope you’ve figured out that I haven’t spilled my guts to you because I’m some kind of a, masochist. I don’t like you very much—as far as I can tell, you’re a selfish bastard—but I’m hoping I’m wrong. I’m hoping you’ve got more of your father in you than I can see right, now. I’ve been honest with you because I’m praying for a miracle here. Without your approval, she and I don’t have a chance.”
“There aren’t going to be any miracles.”
He was a proud man, and there was no entreaty in his voice. “All I want is a level playing field, Bobby Tom. I just want a fair chance.”
“You want my fucking blessing!”
“You’re the only one who can take away her guilt.”
“That’s too bad, then, because I’m not going to do it!” He jabbed his finger at Sawyer’s chest. “I’m warning you. Leave my mother alone, if you so much as look in her direction, you’re going to regret it.”
Sawyer gazed at him with hard, unflinching eyes.
Bobby Tom turned on his heel and rushed from the room, breathing so hard he had to stop and compose himself at the top of the stairs. He was right about this; he knew it. Sawyer had hurt his mother and, no matter what, he had to keep that from happening again.
One of his old teammates hailed him, and he found himself drawn back into the crowd that was gathering around the bar. He went from one group to another, slapping backs and trading war stories as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but as he greeted old friends, he kept glancing toward the door trying to catch sight of Gracie, needing her to steady him after his encounter with Sawyer. What in the hell was keeping her? He fought back the crazy impulse to run out into the parking lot and look for her.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sawyer standing near the bar talking with Luther, and not long after he spotted his mother on the opposite side of the room chatting with several of her friends. She looked as if she were having a good time, but she was too far away to know for sure. He thought about going with her as soon as the filming was over on that cruise she’d been talking about. He couldn’t imagine enjoying a cruise, but he liked being with his mother, and it would be good for her to get away. Gracie could come along, too, so he wouldn’t go stir-crazy shut up on a ship, and the three of them would have a great time. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea, and he could feel his mood lifting.
It abruptly shattered as he watched his mother’s gaze fall on Way Sawyer. Instantly, her eyes filled with sadness and a longing so sharp that he could barely stand to watch. Sawyer turned and saw her, and whatever he’d been about to say to Luther was forgotten. Sawyer’s face softened with an emotion that some subconscious part of Bobby Tom knew well, but didn’t want to name.
The seconds ticked by. Neither Way nor Suzy moved toward the other. Finally, they turned away in unison, as if they’d reached their tolerance for pain.
22
Gracie stopped just inside the door of the clubhouse’s smaller dining room, where the cocktail party was in full swing. As well-built athletes and beautiful women swirled around her, she felt for a moment as if she’d been swept back to the night she’d met Bobby Tom. Although there was no hot tub in sight, she recognized some of the same people and the atmosphere was just as festive.
Her old navy blue suit added to her sense of déjà vu, and because she’d grown to love her more flattering clothes, it seemed even more dowdy and oversize than it had that night. She’d also donned her sensible black pumps, scrubbed her face free of makeup, and scraped her hair back with a pair of utilitarian bobby pins. For tonight, anyway, she simply hadn’t been able to make herself over into Bobby Tom’s image of her, no matter how much she’d loved that image. She especially hadn’t been able to wear the black cocktail dress she’d planned to dazzle him with. Instead, she’d stripped herself down to the person she’d been before he’d played Pygmalion with her life.
He would never know how difficult it had been for her to show up tonight, and only the fact that she always lived up to her responsibilities had forced her to come. He hadn’t seen her yet. He was deep in conversation with a glamorous blond-haired beauty who reminded Gracie of Marilyn Monroe in her heyday. A bit older than Bobby Tom, she wore a spectacular formfitting silver dress slit to mid-thigh, and Bobby Tom was regarding her with such open affection that Gracie felt her chest grow tight. This was exactly the sort of woman he would marry someday, a woman sprinkled with the same stardust that made him so much larger than life.
The blonde slipped her arm around his waist and rested her cheek against his jacket. As he hugged her in return, Gracie recognized her as Phoebe Calebow, the glamorous owner of the Chicago Stars and Bobby Tom’s former boss. She remembered the newspaper photographs of them kissing on the sidelines and wondered why two people so well-matched hadn’t ended up together.
At that moment he lifted his head and spotted Gracie. The confusion in his eyes was replaced, almost immediately, by displeasure, and she wanted to shout at him, This is me, Bobby Tom! This is who I am! An ordinary woman who was foolish enough to have believed she could give something to a man who already has everything.
Phoebe Calebow raised her head and looked in her direction. Gracie couldn’t put it off any longer. Squaring her shoulders, she walked toward them, an ugly duckling approaching two gilded swans.
The male swan scowled, his gilded feathers ruffled. “You’re late. Where have you been, and what in the sam hill are you doing dressed like that?”
Gracie ignored him simply because she didn’t have the strength to address him directly. Resisting the ugly claws of jealousy that wanted to dig into her flesh, she extended her hand to Phoebe. “I’m Gracie Snow.”
She waited for icy hauteur, certain that such a glamorous woman could only feel disdain for someone as dowdy as herself, but she was surprised to see a combination of friendliness and lively curiosity in her eyes instead. “Phoebe Calebow,” she said as she returned the handshake. “I’m delighted to meet you, Gracie. I only heard about your engagement last week.”
“I’m certain it was a surprise to everyone,” Gracie said stiffly, not knowing what to make of this woman who looked like a sex goddess but felt as warm and cozy as Mother Earth.
“I can definitely see your appeal.”
Gracie gazed at her sharply, certain she was having a joke at her expense, but Phoebe Calebow seemed absolutely serious. “The twins are going to be devastated. My daughters convinced themselves he’d wait for them to grow up and then somehow marry them both. We have four children,” she explained, “including a three-month-old son. I’m still nursing him, so we’ve brought him along. He’s at Suzy’s house right now with a sitter.”
Bobby Tom looked pained. “I swear, Phoebe, if you start any breast-feeding discussions, I’m walking right out of this room.”
Phoebe chuckled and patted his arm. “Welcome to the world of married life. You’ll get used to it.”
Gracie fought back a mental picture of Bobby Tom’s babies, rough-and-tumble little boys who’d be as impossible to resist as their father. She hadn’t thought she could feel any more pain, but the idea of Bobby Tom with children who wouldn’t be hers brought a fresh wave of misery.
The crowd was beginning to drift to the dining room as a big, good-looking man who appeared to be in his early forties came up behind Phoebe and clasped her shoulders. Speaking in a soft, Southern drawl, he said, “If you want to do some recruiting, honey lamb, this is the place. There are a couple of real good ball players in the crowd tonight who don’t seem too happy with their team owner.”
Phoebe grew instantly alert. At th
e same time, she tilted her head and gazed up at the man behind her with such tenderness that Gracie wanted to weep. Bobby Tom sometimes looked at her like that, but it didn’t mean the same thing.
“Gracie, this is my husband, Dan Calebow. He used to be Bobby Tom’s coach. Dan, Gracie Snow.”
Calebow smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Snow. This sure is a nice affair.” He turned to Bobby Tom. “Somebody said your fiancée is here, Mr. Movie Star. I can’t believe you finally decided to get married. When am I going to get to meet her?”
Phoebe touched his hand. “Gracie is Bobby Tom’s fiancee.
Calebow quickly concealed his surprise. “Well, now, this is a treat. And you look like such a nice lady, too. My condolences, ma’am.” His attempts to cover his gaffe with humor didn’t quite ease the tension. Gracie was normally good at making light conversation, even in awkward situations, but she felt as if her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she stood before the three of them, dull, drab, and silent.
Bobby Tom finally spoke. “If you’ll excuse us for a minute, Gracie and I need to have a few words with each other.”
Phoebe waved them off. “Go ahead. I want to do some recruiting before everybody’s in their seats.”
Bobby Tom grasped Gracie’s arm and began pulling her away from the dining room for what she was certain he intended to be a blistering lecture, but before he could get her alone, a large, dark-haired man with a meat-hook nose and delicate mouth grabbed him. “You’ve been holding out on me, B.T. I hear you’re getting married. Where’s the lucky lady?”
Bobby Tom gritted his teeth. “This is the lucky lady.” This man wasn’t nearly as skillful at hiding his feelings as Dan Calebow had been, and he was clearly shocked. Gracie felt Bobby Tom slide his arm around her shoulders, and, if she hadn’t known him better, she would almost have thought the gesture was protective.
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