Texas Kissing

by Newbury, Helena

  “I’m serious,” I whispered in her ear. “You run off again and I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”

  She squirmed against me and nodded. Then she was sliding down out of my arms and hurrying out of the barn.

  I stood staring at the door for a long time after she’d gone. In theory, I should be celebrating. The sex had been the best ever, just how I’d imagined it. And if she wanted to keep it casual and just show up for sex and then disappear...wasn’t that what I wanted? Wasn’t that what every guy wanted?

  But something wasn’t right—about the way she’d reacted, after the sex, and on a deeper level, too. Something in her past. Something that kept scaring her away.

  I was worried about her.

  I couldn’t remember when I’d ever worried about a girl, before.

  Lily

  I stumbled downstairs to the bathroom, only just making it to the toilet before I threw up. Isn’t morning sickness meant to only last a month?

  I ran my hands over my huge, swollen belly. The last eight months had shot by. I still hadn’t told Bull. Why hadn’t I told Bull?

  My whole life was in ruins.

  The sound of a car engine outside sent me waddling over to the door. Three black BMWs were pulling up. My blood turned to ice water. I recognized the type of car. The first man out was Antonio and the second was my uncle, followed by a small army of goons. They started towards me.

  They’d found me. I’d been invisible for two years, but the baby had made me noticeable.

  I jumped down out of the bus and tried to run away down the creek bed, but I could only manage a stumbling walk, hands holding my stomach, terrified that I’d trip. I was so worried about the baby. How was I going to protect it, if I couldn’t even protect myself?

  They’d catch me and now they’d want Bull and the baby, too. I’d brought them into my life and I was going to get them all killed. How could I have been so irresponsible?

  Footsteps behind me. Expensive leather shoes pounding through the dust. Hands caught my arms—

  Lily

  I heaved in a massive lungful of air and sat up in bed.

  Everything was still and quiet. I sat there in the darkness for a few seconds, terrified the nightmare was going to come back. My hands searched my belly. No swelling.

  I slumped back on the sheets, my heart rate gradually slowing. I was soaked in sweat. Fuck!

  It was the night after I’d met Bull in the barn. Met being a euphemism for gone there in the middle of the morning and allowed him to fuck me.

  Hard.

  Bareback.

  And now my slumbering brain had gone to town with the potential consequences.

  Too shaken to get back to sleep, I went to get a glass of water. The dream had been so real that I actually relished each easy, unladen step to the sink.

  What had I been thinking? The few times I’d had sex, back in college, I’d never, ever not used a condom. Had my brain just shut down the moment I’d stepped inside the barn?

  Yeah. Pretty much. The sight of him, the words he’d said...it had sent all the rational parts of me on vacation.

  I’d started to come back to myself straight after the sex—that’s why I’d left so abruptly. And almost immediately, I’d started running through dates in my head. By the time I was back in my car, I’d already reassured myself that I was just about due to get my period, so I couldn’t possibly get pregnant. The instant I got back to the bus, I dug through my store receipts and checked the dates to see when I’d last run out for tampons. By the time I’d gone to bed, I was 99% certain that everything was just fine.

  And yet I’d still had the nightmare.

  I knew that it wasn’t just about getting pregnant. I’d broken all of my own rules. I’d gotten involved with someone when I said I never would. Sex had moved our relationship to a whole new level. Even without the bareback thing, this morning still would have been watershed moment—that realization that you’re connected to a person in a whole new way, that they’ve known you, felt you in a way few men have. It’s a big deal for any woman, but for me the shock of it came wrapped in dark, dark fear.

  I was putting myself and Bull at risk: myself, because if I started getting all dewy-eyed I’d get sloppy and make a mistake; Bull, because if my uncle’s men found me, he’d try to save me. And they’d have no hesitation in shooting him.

  I’d taken two big chances, in sleeping with Bull. Risking getting pregnant was the smaller of the two.

  I hopped up onto the counter, sitting on the edge as I sipped my water and stewed on the problem. The loudest sound in the bus was the dripping of the faucet. Outside, I could hear the cicadas.

  Was it really too much to ask, for me to have just a little happiness? To have one thing in my life that wasn’t related to crime? I could be really careful.

  But what about Bull? Would he be careful? Hell, I wouldn’t even be able to tell him to be careful, or he’d start asking why. I couldn’t get into my past with him. He’d demand I take steps I wasn’t ready to take—steps I’d never be ready to take, like testify against my uncle. I didn’t need to change. I was fine just as I was.

  I gazed around the darkened bus. Yeah, right.

  I went back and forth on it for so long that I actually dozed off, perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, and only woke up when I leaned so far forward that I nearly fell. At that point, I headed back to bed, still undecided.

  The next morning, I woke to that familiar cramping. Sure enough, by mid-morning my period had started. I slumped against the bathroom wall. I hadn’t even realized how tight my chest had been. The fact that I’d been 99% sure was irrelevant. That last 1% is everything.

  One problem down. Now for the much bigger one.

  ***

  For two days, I managed to avoid the Bull issue completely by burying myself in my work. Most of it was coming from the arms dealer, Luka. I made a whole slew of fake IDs for a small army of surly-looking Russian guys with crew cuts, and shipped them all over the country: New York, Boston, Chicago. Luka seemed to be building an empire.

  One of the passports, though, wasn’t for a man. It was for a very pretty girl about my age, with long, glossy brown hair. For a second, I was worried that he’d started trafficking women, but there was only one woman and I really didn’t get that vibe from Luka—he’d always seemed honorable. And the note that arrived with the woman’s details said to take extra care with this one.

  A lover?

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I mean, not that Luka would be interested in me. Obviously not. And we’d only met five or six times. And I wouldn’t want to get mixed up with a guy like that. He’s an arms dealer, for Chrissakes. Even with those cheekbones and that super-sexy Russian accent. I absolutely wasn’t jealous. At all. I’m sure she’s lovely and I wish them all the luck in the world.

  I put Arianna bitch Scott’s photo down and started making her a fake French passport. Veronique Sardou, Luka had requested for the name. Going through all the French databases to set her up with a fake life was a welcome break, after all the Russian. French was such a romantic language. I wondered what Luka and this Arianna woman might be doing in France. Paris, maybe. A romantic vacation, walking hand-in-hand on the banks of the river Seine. Or filthy sex in some cheap hotel in Pigalle—

  I caught myself. Wait. Really? This is my life, getting jealous of a client’s lover and thinking that a French social security database is romantic? Fantasizing about what they might be doing in Paris because I’ll never go there myself?

  There had been a time in my life when I’d thought about going to Europe—had actually planned it out, in fact. Before I’d woken up to what my life in New York was, I’d been just another college student, ready to take on the world, instead of isolating myself completely from it. Now...I was never going to go there. Ever. Not with a guy, at least. I couldn’t put someone else at risk, not after what happened to Annette.

  She wasn’t the only one who’d suf
fered, either.

  There was a guy in high school, Russell. You would have thought it would be some hormone-pumped football captain who’d dare to show an interest in the don’s daughter, but no—they were all too scared. Russell was a slender little guy, barely taller than me but good looking. He wore his hair long and had a guitar and wrote god-awful love songs that we both laughed about and...I’m not sure I even liked him in that way and I wasn’t sure he liked me in that way either. I was just so glad to have some male contact at last. We never actually did anything, but we hung out and I used to pretend he was my boyfriend.

  Then I made the mistake of hugging him within sight of Antonio, as he picked me up from school. And Antonio immediately wanted to know who’s the faggot?

  I was the only kid at our school who hadn’t caught on to the fact Russell was gay, even if he wasn’t out yet. That’s how starved of social contact I was.

  Faggots, as my uncle called them, weren’t people he wanted me hanging out with. I was forbidden to see him again, but that wasn’t enough. He quietly applied pressure to the school board and, suddenly, Russell’s parents were told that maybe their son would be happier elsewhere. His parents had to move him and, because word got around, none of the upmarket private schools would take him. He eventually landed at a nearby public school, where his posh background meant he was targeted and beaten daily. After that, no one dared to be my friend at all except Annette.

  Or there was the time, in my freshman year at college, when I came home stinking of air freshener, because I’d doused myself in it to try to get rid of the smell of weed. Just one shared joint with the cool kids in the old boiler room. I barely even got a buzz off it. I just wanted to fit in.

  But my uncle guessed. He questioned me for a solid hour about who’d given me drugs and then, when he got tired, Antonio had taken over. I’d eventually broken down and told them the name of the kid who’d passed around the joint. He wasn’t at college the next day. He showed up days later with one leg in plaster and from then on he walked the other way every time he saw me. That was the worst part—he was so scared of me, I never even got to apologize.

  More memories rose up inside me, rushing towards the surface. Suddenly, the cool, clean, air-conditioned bus felt a lot like our house, back in New York.

  I needed hot desert air, a reminder I wasn’t there anymore. I jumped up from my desk but found my legs would barely hold me, I’d started shaking so hard. I staggered down the bus, tears turning everything blurry. I had to feel for the door button—

  And then I was outside, and for once the Texas sun felt good. It was reassurance that I wasn’t trapped in New York anymore.

  My breathing slowed and I managed to push the memories down below the surface again. I slumped against the bus, even though its metal sides were almost hot enough to burn me.

  When I felt strong enough, I went back inside and focused on Arianna’s French passport. I did my very best work, despite my lingering jealousy. I’m nothing if not professional.

  I did give her twenty-seven French parking tickets, though. I’m not that professional.

  Three days later, I was making coffee, still stewing over what to do about Bull, when my phone rang. I was so focused on what I was going to do about the problem, it didn’t occur to me that the problem might pick up the phone all on its own.

  “You ran away again,” Bull admonished in that deep Texas drawl.

  Lily

  Suddenly, Bull didn’t feel like a problem anymore. Each sweet syllable melted into my brain like molasses and I pressed my thighs together. All I wanted to do was to run over there and let him do whatever he wanted to me.

  And he was calling me. Men like Bull never called girls. Certainly not when the girl runs out on them and goes silent. So what did that mean?

  My heart did a somersault. Immediately, I clamped down on the feelings.

  “I’ve been thinking about you,” he told me. “Can’t seem to think of much else.”

  I pressed my lips together, hard. But then it slipped out anyway. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.” It felt weird, telling the truth for a change. But this is wrong! I can’t put him at risk!

  He started to speak again, but it sounded for a second like he was struggling to find the words. And then I realized what it was—he’d never made this kind of call before. Calling the girl after he’d slept with her was precisely what he didn’t do. “I guess I wanted you to know that, um—“Wait...is he really getting tongue-tied? “I want to see you again. Today.”

  He was reassuring me that it hadn’t been just a one-night stand. I wasn’t ready for the way my heart soared. He was changing. For me.

  I looked around the bus. I’d escaped one prison in New York, but had I wound up just making another one for myself?

  Maybe I needed to change a little, too.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “Today.” Then I remembered my nightmare. “No, wait. Tomorrow. There’s something I have to do this afternoon.”

  “Tomorrow,” he echoed. “Can you stop by the stables, about six? Everyone else will have headed out. We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

  “How romantic!”

  His voice dropped from a rumble to a low, seductive growl. “You want romantic, now? ‘ Cause last time I saw you, what you wanted was a good, hard—”

  “Tomorrow!” I yelped and hung up. A wave of heat was sweeping through me, flushing my cheeks.

  As soon as I stopped talking to Bull, the fear came back. What the hell am I doing?

  But it was too late. For the first time, the feelings inside me were strong enough to overshadow the fear. I started to rationalize it away. It’s been two years and my uncle hasn’t found me yet. Maybe he’s stopped looking.

  I started to wonder if, if I was very careful, I could actually make this work.

  Well, if there was even a chance...I was going to give it a damn good try.

  ***

  That afternoon, I headed to my doctor’s office. She had no problem writing me a prescription for the pill and I popped the first one in the parking lot. I’d only just finished my period so I was—I squirmed inside—good to go.

  I hadn’t had that sensation in years: the feeling of planning sex. I’d forgotten how good it felt. My next stop was the nail salon. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it properly.

  “Toes, too?” asked the nail technician. “A pedicure?”

  Money was the one thing in my life that wasn’t a problem. The work was well paid and my living expenses were virtually zero. Cash just built up in my bank account because I didn’t have anything to spend it on...until now. “Sure,” I told her.

  She was like a shark sensing blood. “A leg wax? Bikini wax?”

  I went to say no... and then nodded my head, instead. “Go nuts,” I told her. She ran to get help. I stumbled out of the salon over three hours later, my purse much lighter and various parts of me tender.

  Finally, I hit the mall and bought a little denim skirt that would show off my—laughably pale—legs and a shirt I could tie beneath my boobs. I had to look at it for a long time in the changing room mirror before I decided and, even then, I wasn’t sure about showing off so much of me. But I’d been wearing blouses and jeans for two years. I needed something appropriate for dating.

  I figured that, with enough attention to detail, I could control the relationship and manage its risks just like I did with my business. The pill? That was just a different kind of Taser.

  I hadn’t realized that relationships are a hell of a lot more complicated.

  Antonio

  I’d spent a fruitless week searching New York. Tessa’s old college classmates, the few boyfriends she’d had...all the same people I’d questioned two years ago. And it had gone just the same as before.

  I hated the little bitch. I’d wasted the best years of my life driving her to fucking band practice when I should have been doing real work for the family. Now, finally, she was gone. But just when I was making
a name for myself I’d been pulled back to running around after her again.

  When I found her, she was going to fucking pay.

  There were precious few possibilities left, though. Her parents were dead and she’d been an only child. There was only one surviving relative and she was in a goddamn nursing home. I was almost certain that she would be a dead end, too.

  “I’m here to see Abigail Oates,” I told the receptionist. “I’m her nephew.” I wasn’t even related to Tessa, Erico or the rest of the family, but I looked as if I could be.

  She handed me the visitor’s book and, just as I’d expected, there were no entries on the preceding pages for Tessa’s grandmother. Just to be sure, I said, “I’m the only one who’s stopped in? My cousin hasn’t been by?”

  The receptionist shook her head. “Nope. Mrs. Oates never gets any visitors.”

  I sighed. A four hour fucking flight for nothing. I headed for the door.

  “Wait—aren’t you visiting?” asked the receptionist.

  “I changed my mind.”

  I kicked open the door to the parking lot, which drew an angry shout from the receptionist. I was halfway to my rental car when I stopped.

  Tessa pissed me off. Always had. Partially because of how I had to follow her around as if she was a fucking princess, partially because of how close she was to Erico—closer than I knew I’d ever get. She was family and I wasn’t. Hell, she’d tried to leave and he’d still taken her back in. If it had been my call, I would have killed her along with her prissy friend.

  But however much I hated her, I had to admit she was smart. It takes brains to disappear completely, like she’d done.

  I turned around and marched back into the care home.

  “What now?” asked the receptionist glaring. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kick our—“

  I held up a photo of Tessa. “Has this woman been here?” I demanded.