Texas! Lucky

by Sandra Brown

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  Susan Young descended the stairs slowly, looking wounded, her mouth sulky. From her appearance, Lucky guessed that she had been crying most of the day, or at least wanted him to think so. Her eyes were watery and red. The tip of her nose had been rubbed raw by tissues. Her complexion was splotchy.

  In lieu of hello she said, "Mama advised me not to speak to you." She halted on the third stair from the bottom.

  Seeing a potential way out of this unwelcome encounter, Lucky asked solicitously, "Would another time be better?"

  "No, it would not!" she replied tartly. "We've got a lot to talk about, Mr. Tyler."

  Drat, he thought.

  She descended the last three steps and swept past him into the formal living room. It smelled sickeningly of furniture polish. Afternoon sunlight was shining through the windows, dappling the pale blue carpet with patterns of light and shadow. It was a gorgeous day. Lucky wished he were outside enjoying it. He wished he were anywhere but where he was—in the Youngs' formidable living room being subjected to Susan's hurt, chastising glare.

  "Well?" she demanded imperiously the moment she had closed the double doors.

  "What can I say? I did something terribly stupid, and got caught."

  His demeanor was self-deprecating. He'd learned early on that the only way to handle a woman scorned was to assume all the blame and be as honest as was prudent. There had been those occasions, however, when honesty had been suspended because either castration or his life were at stake. He didn't think Susan's wrath had reached that level of danger … yet.

  Looking properly contrite, he said, "Can you forgive me for standing you up last night, Susan?"

  "Of course I can forgive you for that, although it was a tacky thing to do."

  "It certainly was. I owe your parents an apology for it, too."

  "We held up dinner for an hour and a half waiting on you. We didn't eat until nine."

  That would have been about the time Dovey was blowing on his knife wound, cooling his flesh, and inflaming his passions with her soft breath. Damn, it had felt delicious, stirring his body hair, fanning his skin.

  "I have no excuse for what I did."

  The apologetic words were beginning to stick in his craw. If not for her father's position at the bank, he'd tell this spoiled brat that he wasn't accountable to her for whom he slept with, and that would be the last she'd see of him.

  He was anxious to begin his search for Dovey, and was only going through the motions of stroking Susan because it was politic to do so. He hadn't needed Chase to spell that out to him. However, he rued the day he'd asked Susan for that first date several months ago. He wanted to lash out, reminding her that he'd made her no promises, certainly had made no commitments, and that whoever he slept with, whether it be one woman or a dozen, was no business of hers. Only a reminder of the loan payment coming due forced him to squelch his mounting temper.

  Hoping that she wouldn't catch the hopefulness in his voice, he said, "You'd be better off refusing to see me again."

  She gazed thoughtfully at the floor for a moment, then raised her shimmering eyes to his. "I've got a more forgiving spirit than that."

  Damn! Women loved to be forgiving. It vested them with enormous power over the forgiven. They thrived on the poor sucker's guilt like carrion birds on a carcass, picking it clean.

  "I can forgive you for skipping dinner with us," she said. "I can even overlook your engaging in a barroom brawl, because I know you have a volatile nature. I'll admit that's part of the attraction you hold over me.

  "What I'm finding very difficult to forgive…" Here, her lower lip began to quiver and her voice became tremulous. "You've humiliated me in front of the whole town. They say you couldn't be located when the fire broke out last night because you were with a whore."

  "She wasn't a whore." The application of that word to Dovey made him so angry that he was startled by the intensity of his emotion.

  "Then who was she?"

  "A stranger. I never saw her before last night, but she wasn't a whore." Susan was watching him shrewdly. He softened his tone. "Look, Susan, I didn't set out to sleep with anybody last night. It just sorta happened." That was the truth. He hadn't wormed his way into Dovey's motel room with the intention of making love to her. He'd only wanted to provoke her as badly as he'd been provoked, get his apology, and then leave.

  It wasn't entirely his fault that it hadn't quite worked out that way. He'd been half-asleep when he reached for her. She'd been fragrant and warm and soft and compliant. Her damp lips had been mobile beneath his, her body responsive. He couldn't be blamed for how naturally his body had responded to the sexy stimuli. Of course, it had been conditioned to respond.

  "…understand. You left here yesterday aroused. Right?"

  He blinked to clear his vision, and tried to grasp what Susan had been saying. "Uh, right."

  She approached him, gazing up at him through spiky, wet lashes. Her mouth looked vulnerable. But for all her tears and sniveling, Lucky knew she was about as helpless as a barracuda.

  "So you took your lust for me and spent it on a willing woman," she whispered, laying her hands on his chest. "I guess I should be flattered, though I'm still very hurt. The thought of you in bed with another woman makes me just want to die."

  She looked closer to killing than dying. Her eyes, no longer bright with tears, were alight with malice. "But I can understand how when a man gets so aroused, he's got to do something about it or explode."

  She came up on tiptoes and brushed a kiss across his lips. "I know the feeling, Lucky. Don't you think I want you, too? Don't you know that the only reason I'm saving myself is so our wedding night will be special? Don't you know how badly I want to make love to you right now?"

  True, he had been mildly aroused when he left Susan after lunch the day before, but he had got hotter than that watching certain commercials on TV. His arousal then had been like a mild head cold when compared to the feverish delirium he'd experienced when he'd entered Dovey's giving body.

  "Look, Susan," he said irritably, "all this talk about weddings—"

  She laid her fingers against his lips. "Shh. I know we can't make an announcement until you get out of the mess you're in. Poor baby." She reached up with the intention of running her fingers through his hair. He snapped his head back and caught her hand before she could touch him.

  "Announcement?"

  "The announcement of our engagement, silly," she said, playfully tapping his chest. "And just so we can get this misunderstanding about the fire settled quickly, and to prove how much I love you, I'll say that you spent last night with me."

  "What?"

  "It's all over town that you woke up alone this morning and can't produce your alibi. So I'll say that I was with you. Mama and Daddy will have a fit, of course, but they'll accept our sleeping together as inevitable if I have an engagement ring on my finger. They'll be so happy we're finally making it official, they'll overlook our one night of sin."

  She was either downright conniving or entertaining delusions. Either way, she was dangerous and had to be handled with kid gloves.

  "What makes you think anyone will believe you if you come forward now and say I was with you last night?"

  "I'll say that, at first, you wouldn't let me be your alibi because of what it would mean to my reputation. I insisted until you capitulated."

  "Looks like you've got it figured from every angle."

  "Ever since I heard you couldn't produce that woman, it's all I've thought about. I'll say I sneaked out after Mama and Daddy had gone to bed. Actually I did go out last night."

  "What for?"

  "I was so upset, I drove around looking for you, searching for your car at all the places you usually go. When I didn't find you, I came home. My parents never knew I went out. I could say that we met and spent the night together, passionately making love." She gave him an impish grin. "Which isn't a bad idea."

  "
That's not how you felt about it yesterday," he reminded her.

  "A girl can change her mind."

  She was as easy to see through as the Waterford vase on the mantel. She had turned him down yesterday, so he had slaked his lust with someone else. That was untenable to a conceited woman like Susan, especially when everybody in town knew about it. She had devised a way to save face and, at the same time, lasso him for good. Even though her lie would clear him, it was self-serving.

  "You'd be willing to lie to save my hide? You'd do that for me?"

  "And for me," she admitted. "I want you, Lucky Tyler. And I mean to have you, no matter what it takes."

  Whether I want you or not, he thought.

  "I'll call Sheriff Bush right now," she said suddenly, turning toward the phone. Lucky's arm shot out. He caught her hand.

  "I can't let you do it, Susan."

  Her bright smile dimmed. "Why not?"

  "You could get in a lot of trouble by lying to federal investigators. I can't let you do that for me."

  "I want to."

  "And I appreciate it," he said with what he hoped sounded like sincerity. He could see, however, that she wasn't convinced. "Let me think about it. You know, Susan, perjury is a serious offense. I need to think it through before letting you do it."

  Her smile returned, but there was a definite edge to her voice when she said, "Don't mull it over too long. I'm not sure how long my offer will stand."

  What a conniving little bitch, he thought. Forcing himself to smile, he said, "You're something, you know that? When I first met you, I had no idea there was so much complexity beneath the surface."

  "Whatever I want I go after. It's as simple as that."

  God help the man she got her hooks into. Lucky silently vowed then and there that it wasn't going to be him. "Well, I've got a lot of thinking to do, Susan, so I'd better be going."

  "Must you?" she whined.

  "I must."

  "Take this with you." She looped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and ground a wet, suggestive kiss upon his mouth. When she eventually pulled back, she whispered, "Maybe that'll make you think twice before going to another woman."

  Lucky endured the kiss because he recognized the difference between feminine wiles and real treachery. Susan Young exercised the latter. She would resort even to blackmail to get him to marry her.

  As he went down her front walk, having made good a temporary escape, he wiped the remains of her kiss off his lips with the back of his hand.

  It hadn't repelled him. It certainly hadn't stirred his ardor. It had left him feeling totally indifferent to it, something that hadn't happened since he first discovered kissing under the tutelage of the preacher's daughter behind the choir loft of the First Baptist Church during vacation Bible school. Between that first titillating mouth-to-mouth experimentation and Susan's ardent kiss, what had happened to immunize him against the effects?

  A taste of Dovey, that's what.

  * * *

  The bartender groaned when he looked up and saw Lucky straddling one of the barstools. "I'd just as soon you take your business somewhere else tonight, Lucky, and give the place a rest."

  "Shut up and draw me a beer. I'm not looking for trouble."

  "As I recall," the bartender drawled, "that's what you said yesterday." He slid the beer in front of his customer.

  Lucky sipped. "I'm in a jam."

  "So I hear. It's all over town that you need an alibi for last night."

  "Jeez, the grapevine around here is faster and more accurate than a fax machine."

  The bartender's face split into a wide grin. "If you don't like the gossip, you shouldn't keep such a—what do they call it?—a high profile. Plain folks are fascinated by the activities of local celebrities."

  Lucky cursed and took another sip of his drink. "You remember anything about that woman?"

  "Not as much as you do, I'd bet," he chortled. His sappy grin faded beneath Lucky's warning glare. "Uh, well, let's see, natural redhead, wasn't she? And I don't mean anything lewd about that," he added hastily.

  "Dark auburn hair, yeah."

  "'Bout so tall." He marked a spot near his shoulder, holding his hand parallel to the ground.

  "I don't need a physical description," Lucky said impatiently. "Do you remember anything significant about her?"

  "Significant?"

  "Did you see her pull into the parking lot?"

  The bartender searched his memory. "I think so. Came from the south, I believe."

  "The south." Lucky assimilated that. "If you saw which direction she came from, you must've noticed her car."

  "Sure did."

  "What kind was it?"

  "Red," he announced proudly, glad to be of service.

  "I know it was red," Lucky growled. "But what kind?"

  "Foreign, I think."

  "Make?" The bartender shook his head. "Model?" Again Lucky received a negative answer.

  "Great," he muttered, his highball glass at his lips.

  "Well, you followed her, Lucky. If you didn't notice, how could you expect me to?"

  "Don't worry about it. I just thought you might've. You know I don't recognize the make and model of any car manufactured after 1970. Like you, I just remember hers being compact and red. Maybe under hypnosis I could remember the license number, but I've been racking my brain all day, and can't come up with a single digit or letter of it."

  "Uh-oh."

  "What?" Lucky swiveled around on the stool, following the direction of the bartender's worried gaze. Coming through the door were Little Alvin and Jack Ed. They paused momentarily when they spotted Lucky. An expectant hush fell over the bar. Then the duo ambled toward a corner booth and sat down.

  "Two beers each. Right now," Little Alvin bellowed to the bartender.

  He uncapped four long necks and set them on a cork-lined tray. "I'll take it," Lucky offered congenially, sliding off his stool.

  "Now, look, Lucky, I just got this place—"

  "No trouble. Swear." Lucky gave the man his most winning grin. Carrying the tray, he moved across the gritty hardwood floor toward the corner booth. Little Alvin and Jack Ed followed his progress with hooded eyes.

  When he reached their booth, he set the tray on the table. "Drink up, boys."

  Jack Ed sneered and suggested that Lucky do something to himself that was anatomically impossible.

  Ignoring him, Lucky addressed Alvin. "Glad to see you can walk upright today."

  Little Alvin glowered at him menacingly. "You'll get yours, you cocky bastard."

  "Alvin, Alvin," Lucky said, shaking his head sorrowfully, "is that any way to talk to me after I've brought a peace offering?" He nodded down at the beer Alvin had almost guzzled in one swallow. "I put your drinks on my tab. Felt like it was the least I could do after our misunderstanding yesterday."

  "You can't smooth-talk your way past me. Beat it."

  The features of Lucky's face pulled taut. "Listen you—"

  "Lucky!"

  Chase's voice cut through the smoky, dense atmosphere. From the corner of his eye Lucky saw his brother weaving through the tables to join him at the end of Little Alvin's booth.

  "Don't start anything else, for godsake," Chase warned him in a terse whisper.

  "Well, if it ain't the rodeo star," Jack Ed said snidely, "come to save his little brother from another beatin'."

  "That's not the way I heard it, Patterson." Chase had been a bull rider in his youth. He'd won a considerable amount of prize money, and had made quite a name for himself on the rodeo circuit. But the danger associated with the sport had always worried his parents. They were greatly relieved when he became engaged to Tanya and retired from it with all his faculties and all his body parts still intact.

  Chase didn't let Jack Ed provoke him. His unexpected appearance had had a calming effect on Lucky, who said now, "I just wanted to ask them some questions."

  "I wouldn't mind asking them a few myself," Chase said. />
  Feeling expansive, Little Alvin propped his arms, which were as big around as pythons, along the back cushion of the booth. "About what?"

  "About the fire last night in our garage," Chase said.

  "About the woman who was in here yesterday," Lucky replied tightly.

  Alvin responded to Lucky's question. "Heard she ran out on you," he said with a malicious grin. "Too bad. Always suspected that your success with the fairer sex was overrated." Jack Ed thought that was hilarious. His giggle was almost as high-pitched as a woman's.

  "I don't believe for a minute you were playing cards with your brothers all night," Chase said.

  "Did she ever give you her name?" Lucky asked, miraculously quelling the overwhelming impulse to wipe the gloating grin off Alvin's beefy face.

  "You balled her and you don't even know her name?"

  Lucky lunged toward the larger man. Chase grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back. "Let's get out of here."

  "You son—"

  "Let's go!" Chase dragged his younger brother backward across the lounge, with Lucky struggling every step of the way. His bootheels thumped along the floor as he dug them in, trying to get traction.

  "Too bad you lost the one woman who could keep you out of jail, Tyler," Little Alvin taunted.

  Lucky gnashed his teeth and let out a feral sound, straining to get loose from Chase. Chase, however, held tight. "Dammit, I'll knock you out cold myself if you don't settle down. What the hell's the matter with you?"

  Once they had made it through the door, Chase slammed Lucky against the exterior wall of the building. Lucky threw off his brother's restraining hands. "You have to ask what the matter is?" he shouted. "They were right. I might go to jail."

  "So what does that have to do with what went on in there?" Chase hitched his chin toward the tavern.