The Book Babes Boxed Set (Texas Ties/Texas Troubles/Texas Together)

by Jean Brashear

  Hearing the door to the kitchen open, the noise spilling inside, Ava glanced at her watch. The husbands and children most often vacated the premises when it was time for The Book Babes, but it was easily past Sam’s bedtime and time for them to break up.

  “Mom! Guess what Dad did?” Sam streaked across the room and threw himself into his mother’s arms.

  Ellie hugged him closely, making him squirm. Ava didn’t miss the glance that arced between Ellie and Wyatt, hers dusted with a faint blush of guilt after Wyatt gave her a slow, intimate wink.

  Leaning negligently against the doorframe, muscular arms folded across his chest, Wyatt Preston was a walking advertisement for an outdoor men’s magazine. Mink-brown hair spilled over his brow, his green eyes crinkled with his grin. Beside him twelve-year-old Joseph was already past his shoulder and Sarah, at thirteen, was emerging from baby curves and braces far too soon for her father. He’d survived Christy’s puberty in grand style, but this one had trouble written across her forehead. She’d never made any secret of the fact that Laken was her hero.

  “Mom, guess!” Sam planted his hands on both sides of Ellie’s face.

  “Sam, they’re not finished. You can tell her later.” Wyatt’s smooth baritone was gentle, but the command was clear.

  Ellie pulled her gaze away from her husband and glanced around the group, issuing a silent warning none of them needed to hear. They’d all spilled their guts about things they’d never tell their loved ones. It was the magic—and the curse—of their group. They’d started out to read books but instead had found sisters.

  “It’s okay, Wyatt,” Laken spoke up. “We’re all dying to know.” Her glance was filled with mischief. Wyatt returned it with the same big-brother tolerance he’d always shown Laken, and Ava relaxed.

  Sam turned to Laken, green eyes sparkling. His carrot-red curls had not yet become the bane of his existence. He was Tom Sawyer sprung to life. “He let me walk the roof!” Too excited to sit still, Sam scooted off Ellie’s lap and stood in the center of an audience he knew would always pay attention.

  “What roof?” Sylvie prompted.

  “Up on the mountain. We went to Chuy’s and ate enchiladas, then we climbed the roof and watched the sunset.” He turned toward Ellie. “You shoulda been there, Mom, it was awesome!”

  Ellie blanched. “The new job?” she asked her husband.

  Wyatt nodded.

  “What mountain?” Laken asked.

  Joseph’s patent adoration of her bled through his tone. “The three-story house Dad’s building on Mount Bonnell. I could show you, Laken, if you wanted.” All their older sons considered Laken a wet dream.

  “Dios mio,” Luisa muttered. Ava could see her fingers itching to cross herself.

  Sylvie the Imperturbable’s voice had an edge. “You took this child up on the side of a hill, on top of a three-story roof?”

  Sarah took instant offense. “Dad was with him the whole way. He’d never let any of us get hurt.”

  “Sylvie knows that, Sarah.” But even Ellie’s voice shook slightly. She glanced up at Wyatt. “I don’t think I want to know.” She turned to her son. “So you had an adventure, huh?”

  Wyatt winked at her and shook his head.

  “It was so cool, Mom. I only slipped once, and Dad caught me fast.”

  “Sam, you weren’t supposed to tell—” Sarah complained.

  Wyatt crossed the room, hoisting Sam to his shoulders. “Well, now that you’ve made sure I’m in the doghouse, let’s hit the bathtub, sport.” He reached over to touch Ellie’s cheek, and a long, silent message moved between them.

  Through five children and a life that was anything but simple, one unmistakable fact shimmered in the air: Wyatt Preston loved his wife. But Ellie had to feed the gnawing in her soul or their closeness could suffer. Wyatt was a fair man; Ava had to believe he’d encourage Ellie if only she’d come clean that being the Earth Mother wasn’t enough. They’d grown up together; maybe he was too close to see it without being told. And Ellie might never work up the courage to ask.

  Ava wanted to think they could work it out. She and Tom had gone through something similar; it was why she’d started writing. A good man would do as Tom had done in giving her room to grow.

  And Wyatt Preston was a good man.

  Even if he took six-year-olds up on an unfinished, terrifyingly high roof.

  If women always decided their children’s limits, the world’s great explorations would never have happened. Mothers sometimes just had to close their eyes and pray.

  “Okay,” she said, fingers scrambling in her purse for her calendar, “What shall we read for next month?”

  And with those magic words, the negotiations began. When the men and children had worked their way to the surface, the meeting was over. From five women trying to figure out the meaning of their lives under the auspices of expanding their minds, they turned back into wives and mothers and daughters and lovers, women with too many responsibilities on their respective plates. The slumber-party atmosphere was over, the real world had intervened.

  Time to live out the next month.

  * * *

  Ava turned out the lamp in the living room, making her slightly woozy way down the hall toward the bedroom where Tom lay waiting.

  She paused at the doorway, taking in the sight of the face she loved more than any in the world. Sharp planes and angles slightly altered with the years, but truly, very little. Tom Sinclair still bore the look of the firebrand she’d married, the activist lawyer who’d had the light of the fanatic in his eyes for all the years she’d known him. Never mind that he taught law school now, he’d slowed down little. Tom would never go gently into that good night.

  His shaggy dark hair was sprinkled with gray now, but she thought it only made him more handsome. He didn’t agree, but true vanity was a stranger to Tom. He crackled with energy and tilted at windmills; he didn’t have time for his appearance. She had to pay attention to his clothing; left to his own devices, it would fall off before he noticed the holes.

  Tom looked over the book he was reading and smiled, his even white teeth the smile of a cover model except for one slightly crooked eyetooth that she secretly loved. Setting the book aside, he held out his arms, and she crawled across the bed to stretch out along his length. “How was it? Who went over the edge tonight?”

  Ava nestled her face against his neck, breathing in the smell of him. They were opposite in almost every way, except for two truly critical arenas: each had a powerful sense of honor, and each loved the other to distraction. Plus, they could laugh.

  Those had always been enough, despite all the rough edges they’d had to smooth. And God knew, there had been plenty.

  “Ellie,” she answered.

  Tom lifted his head and stared. “Ellie?”

  She’d known he’d understand. If Ava was the prime mover who’d brought the group together, the one who provided the structure and will, it was Ellie who kept them wanting to come back. She petted them, she laughed with them, she had tissues ready for their tears. She calmed, she soothed, she baked cookies and made tea. Ellie never fell apart. Ellie was Earth Mother.

  “Wyatt?” Tom asked. It was a sensible guess. Spouses could always do the most damage.

  Ava shook her head.

  “Ah,” Tom nodded. “The empty nest. Sam’s starting first grade this fall, isn’t he?”

  Ava kissed his neck, then sat up, pulling the pins from her long hair and removing her shoes, wiggling her toes. “It’s hitting her hard.”

  “So what does the group recommend?”

  “She needs to paint. Sylvie says she’s really good.”

  “Will she?”

  Ava stood and began stripping off her clothes on her way to the bathroom. “I don’t know.”

  “Mother Ava will make sure of it.”

  She poked her head back around to see him grinning. “I’m through being a mother. I graduated.”

  “But you’re not through bei
ng the voice of reason. You won’t leave her alone until she sees what’s best for her.”

  Ava threw her hairbrush at him, which he caught with one hand. “You make me sound like a nosy old broad.”

  Tom waggled his eyebrows at her. “But a sexy nosy old broad. Climb in this bed, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

  Ava brushed her teeth, smiling, then frowned as she looked closer in the mirror. He still desired her, thank God, but she often wondered why. She could see every line, every sag. She hoped he never would.

  “Laken’s answered a personals ad,” she mumbled around the toothbrush.

  “What?” He rounded the corner, sliding his arms around her waist and nipping at her shoulder.

  Ava spit out the toothpaste and rinsed. “Laken answered a personals ad.”

  “She ran out of rock musicians and tattoo artists?”

  Ava shrugged.

  He shook his head. “That’s what happens when you sell your soul to godless commerce.” Tom and Laken would never agree about what made one a good lawyer. Laken had sold out, and Tom was wasting himself trying to change what would never change—each had his own pet opinion of the other. “You can’t have personal happiness when you spend your life in pursuit of filthy lucre, prostituting yourself to the highest bidder.”

  Laken wasn’t an easy person to befriend. Her belligerent cynicism disguised a deep need for love and affection. “She wouldn’t be on the merry-go-round if she didn’t need to be loved.”

  “I can see why her first husband left her.”

  “They left each other, Tom. They were very young.”

  “I’d have left her the day I met her.”

  Ava shook her head. Laken wouldn’t be the first topic over which they’d agreed to disagree. They generally came at most issues from opposite ends of the spectrum.

  “So what did you do this evening, hotshot?”

  “After the dancing girls left or before?”

  Ava let her head fall back as his hands wandered, sighing softly. “Did you save a dancing boy for me?”

  Tom turned her in his arms. “Come look under the covers, and we’ll see, my pretty.” He twirled an imaginary mustache, flipped off the lights, and led her to bed.

  She could think about her friends tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  Sylvie Everett walked through her gallery, the trip past pearl-gray walls her morning refresher before tackling the phone and the paperwork. She stopped before her newest installation, Saxon Gaillard’s work.

  He stopped her heart, every time. Not that his physical appearance couldn’t do so, if her heart were available. With his powerful frame and blade-sharp cheekbones, the blond giant was an impressive specimen, but thanks to Gabe, her heart was anything but open. Damn Gabe, anyway, for pressing her for a commitment.

  Sylvie shook her head, willing away the ache. Last night had been the first night in a long time that she’d slept alone, and it hadn’t been restful. Drawing a deep breath, she looked at Saxon’s Lady Damiata. Such boldness of stroke and color, yet such phenomenal control and detail. She had no idea who had modeled for this, but she’d be willing to bet their involvement hadn’t been purely professional.

  But Saxon would never tell. Saxon rarely said much, preferring to hole up for days, even weeks, and he refused to have a phone. She had to go there in person when she needed his signature. Even paying him money didn’t drag him out of the cave before he was ready. He’d merely roar some instruction to slide it under the door and leave him the hell alone.

  He would scare Ellie to death, even if Sylvie could convince him to teach her friend—but he was exactly what Ellie needed. She had the potential for so much, but she needed someone who’d shake her out of her traces, someone who’d teach her to be bold. Sylvie knew in her bones that Saxon was the perfect guide for Ellie—if he didn’t snap her head off first.

  Fortunately, Sylvie held Saxon’s professional life in her hands, as his discoverer and sole agent. He didn’t mind ignoring the world…but that big frame needed to eat, needed a roof, had to pay for the paint he used with such abandon. Ellie wouldn’t ever have to know the details of their arrangement.

  Turning away, Sylvie headed for her cappuccino machine—the proper kind, not those foolish miniatures sold in discount stores—already planning her strategy.

  Ellie never cried…and Sylvie didn’t want to see her do so, ever again.

  Besides, Ellie had a gift that Sylvie craved. The least she could do was to make sure Ellie didn’t squander hers.

  She listened to the machine’s bubbling hiss. The phone rang—too early. Please—not Gabe. Walking toward it, Sylvie concentrated on the argument she’d present to Saxon.

  * * *

  “Galerie Mireille.”

  “Cappuccino ready?” Ava leaned over the bathroom counter, tying the laces on her right shoe. Looking in the mirror, she pulled back her long brown mane into a ponytail, part of the preparation for heading to the gym.

  “You know me too well.”

  “Had to catch you before opening time.”

  “How many hours have you been up, Ava?”

  “I’ve been writing since six.”

  Sylvie’s groan was even elegant. “Barbaric.”

  “But I go to bed with the chickens, Syl.”

  “Not last night you didn’t.”

  The opening was there, just that easily. “You meant it about Ellie’s talent, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t say things I don’t mean, darling.”

  “So what do we do about it?”

  “I have someone in mind to instruct her.”

  “Who?”

  A tiny hesitation. “Saxon.”

  “The Viking god? Sylvie, he’ll scare the hell out of our little Ellie.”

  “But he’ll break open her style.”

  “He’ll give her one of those thunderous glares, and she’ll scram so fast you’ll only see a dust cloud.” Ava had met Saxon twice, once at his opening, and another time when he and Sylvie were yelling at one another. No, correction—Sylvie never yelled. She only made you want to.

  “I can handle Saxon, Ava.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about. Ellie’s far too timid for him. He’s not a teacher, anyway.”

  “He’s what she needs. She has a gift—if she’ll ever break out of that nice girl demeanor and let it fly.”

  “She won’t be Ellie if she breaks out.”

  “She might be happier.”

  “Ellie loves her family, Sylvie. They won’t thank you for terrorizing her.”

  “Ellie will be fine. Saxon’s simply a little… temperamental.”

  Ava actually thought she might like the man a great deal, but Ava wasn’t easily intimidated. Ellie was. She’d run like a scared rabbit.

  Still, Sylvie had an eye for talent, both for discovery and for nurturing. Maybe she was right, however unorthodox the pairing might be.

  “You forget. Ellie’s met Saxon.”

  “But at his opening, darling. He was a pussycat.”

  Sylvie must have been at another opening. Saxon had stood quietly, that much was true. He’d nodded, he hadn’t torn anyone’s head off…but he’d stood there, an aura of barely-repressed barbarism vibrating around him. Laken, for one, had been riveted.

  Laken hadn’t been the only one. Saxon was not only barely civilized…he was sexy as hell. Even Ava had felt the call of alpha male.

  Ellie would be a lamb to slaughter.

  “Sylvie, are you absolutely sure?” Ava was beginning to question how much they should be interfering. She’d only envisioned Ellie happily daubing paint on a canvas, not having a glowering giant yelling instructions.

  “It will work, Ava. Trust me.”

  And I’ll be keeping a close eye. “First, you have to convince Ellie.”

  “Darling, after convincing Saxon, Ellie will be a piece of cake.”

  It was time to pry. “What about you, Sylvie? You can’t mean that yo
u and Gabe are through.”

  Icicles could have formed on the phone lines. “I have a busy day, Ava. We’ll talk later.”

  “Gabe wants to marry you, doesn’t he?”

  “Gabe always wants to marry me.”

  “You think you’ll find someone better? Sylvie, that man puts up with a lot from you—can’t you give him an inch?”

  Silence, total and pulsing.

  “I’m sorry. I have no right—but Syl, you’ve got to admit the man’s perfect for you.”

  “I don’t have to do anything but pay taxes and die.”

  Whoa. Something serious was afoot. “Is it someone else?”

  She thought she heard the softest of sobs, just a mere catch of breath.

  Ava softened. “I care, Sylvie. You have friends. Why don’t you talk to us?”

  The silence went on so long, Ava wondered if she was still there. “Everything was fine. Why couldn’t he just leave things the way they were? We have our separate lives, we have wonderful times together, but we don’t crowd one another. Why can’t he accept that this way is best?”

  “Would it be so bad to be married to Gabe? The man adores you, he’s handsome and intelligent and treats you like a queen.” And he’s rich as Croesus, Laken would have added.

  “I can’t talk about it anymore, Ava. Please let me go.” Her voice filled with relief suddenly. “There’s someone at the front door.”

  “How about lunch?”

  “Sorry, not today.” Her tone grew stronger. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Toodles, darling.”

  “Syl, wait—” Too late.

  Ava punched the Off button and laid down the portable. Finishing tying her other shoe, she frowned. Sylvie had been evasive with Gabe for years. It was the trademark of their relationship that Gabriel Winthrop III gave Sylvie all the room to maneuver any woman could want. He kept her close by letting her feel free as a bird, the only terms Sylvie could accept. Ava was probably as close to Sylvie as anyone on the planet but Ellie, but there was so much about her friend none of them knew.

  Maybe Ellie knew something that would help. All Ava could tell at this point was that something unusual was going on here. Sylvie was often temperamental with Gabe, but he always laughed it off and let her be or wooed her out of it with some outrageous luxury. They’d argued often, but never had Sylvie said it was over. In her own way, she was as tied to Gabe as he to her.