Our Red Hot Romance Is Leaving Me Blue

by Dixie Cash

  He got to his feet and walked to her to lighten her load. “What in the world have you got there?”

  She gave him a self-conscious smile. “When I checked in the other day I noticed a bunch of games behind the reservation desk. I asked if I could borrow one for the evening and, well, how about a game of Monopoly?”

  Overcome with relief and appreciation, he threw one arm around her and pulled her against him in half a bear hug. “I’ll be damned. You know, I don’t think I could go to sleep if I had to. A board game is just what we need. Thank you, Sophia.”

  “Careful,” she said, laughing. “We’ll have drinks, Fritos and fake money everywhere.”

  Justin laughed too, the earlier tension eased. “I haven’t played Monopoly in years. I have to warn you though, I’m an absolutely ruthless real-estate tycoon. I might come across as a nice guy, but when it comes to Monopoly, I make Donald Trump look small time.”

  Sophia raised one eyebrow. “Oh, really? Okay, I’ve been warned.” She opened the box and placed the Monopoly board on the table. “You be the banker. I don’t need to be around that much money, even fake. It makes me do wild things.”

  While she set out the accessories, Justin took a seat opposite her and removed the rubber bands from stacks of funny money. “In that case, I’d better relieve you of those funds quickly.”

  The ensuing hours passed quickly, the only thing occupying Justin’s thoughts being the quest to buy Boardwalk or acquire another railroad. He hadn’t felt so unencumbered in so long. Laughing out of sheer pleasure instead of behaving like a grieving widower, the way people seemed to want him to do, had almost become an alien activity.

  One thing he had learned about being a grieving widower—if he laughed, some thought he was laughing too soon and he must not have loved his wife. Conversely, if he didn’t show a lighter side now and then, they said he was trapped in his grief and refusing to face reality.

  As Sophia reached across the board to move the top hat token, Justin took her hand in his and spoke as sincerely as he knew how. “I just want to say thanks again, Sophia. I was feeling a little embarrassed earlier and you managed to not only make this night fun, you helped me forget about everything but winning this game.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” Sophia said. “I enjoyed it too. I was a little uncomfortable myself once we first got back to the room. I had even begun to think I shouldn’t have invited you here. But now…well, I’ve had so much fun and we’ve laughed a lot. I haven’t had much to laugh about in the past year, or anyone to laugh with.”

  Justin felt like a clod. He had been so absorbed in his own despair he had completely overlooked something Debbie Sue had told him. Sophia had taken care of her dying grandmother for months and finally lost her just weeks ago. Debbie Sue had explained that the grandmother was Sophia’s only family and that Sophia had been raised by her alone. So, in essence, Sophia had lost her mother. And he hadn’t offered a single word of condolence. “I should have told you before, Sophia, but I just didn’t think of it. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  She smiled and he felt as if the heavens had opened. “That’s okay, Justin. We’ve both lost someone. I’ve found that when I’m so hurt, it’s hard to take myself to someone else’s pain and sympathize. I assume all people are that way. So I understand how you feel. Empathy is a better word than sympathy.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” After a few seconds of silence, he rubbed his palms together and said, “I don’t know about you, but all this wheeling and dealing has worn me out.” He began to put away the Monopoly game. “We probably should hit the sack. Which bed do I get?”

  “You take the one on the left. I’ve already slept in the one on the right.”

  “Left it is. I’m going to the lobby and give you some time to get ready for bed. Is half an hour enough?”

  “Half an hour is perfect. Thank you for being a gentleman, Justin.”

  “That’s the only way to be with a lady,” he said and picked up the room key.

  He stepped into the hallway, locking the door behind him, and pushed the room key into his jeans pocket. He was demonstrating chivalry, though he wasn’t sure that was his first choice. Sophia was beautiful and sweet and he hadn’t been with a woman since before Rachel passed. Maybe he would have preferred to crawl in bed with Sophia and smother her with kisses. The situation and opportunity seemed right, but the timing couldn’t be worse. Sleeping with the person who would facilitate a conversation on your behalf with your departed wife was…He fumbled in his mind for the right word. Hell. There was no way around it; it was shitty.

  He strolled through the small lounge off the lobby and was surprised to see it was filled with a group of young people sitting, standing, milling around and laughing loudly. They were clearly in their cups.

  Looking for other options, he noticed a darkened doorway with a sign displaying drink specials in Club Hideaway. He hadn’t known this hotel had a bar, but the sight was welcome. A cold beer sounded good.

  He crossed the lobby and stopped at the club’s doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to a dimly lit interior. A computer screen at the bar offered video poker and a jukebox in the corner played music. He could make out a few couples sitting at tables, their faces softly spotlighted by candle glow from inside red lanterns in the center of each of the tables. Otherwise, the room was mostly empty.

  A waitress breezed past carrying a tray of empty glasses. “Just sit anywhere, honey. I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

  Selecting the closest unoccupied table, Justin sank to a seat and looked around. A couple sat at a table beside him. He had seen the woman before. He wasn’t sure where, but she looked familiar, and the man…oops. He knew the man and he also knew that the woman sitting close to him was not his wife. Club Hideaway was more of a hideout. Flustered, he nodded a greeting and quickly diverted his attention.

  He spied a small man alone at the bar. An empty glass sat in front of him, but he had a full one in his hand. He was so short his feet dangled above the floor as if he were a kid occupying an adult-size chair. The figure was someone Justin recognized instantly and knew all too well. His brother-in-law, John Patrick Daly.

  Justin’s first inclination was to make a quiet, unobserved exit, but on second glance, his brother-in-law looked so forlorn, Justin was reluctant to abandon him. He was, after all, family. What John Patrick might be working on or how he might be scheming against Justin personally was unknown, but clearly the guy needed a friend at the moment.

  Justin rose, walked over to the bar and seated himself on the stool beside his brother-in-law. John Patrick turned his head slowly and looked at him with a bleary-eyed expression that was quickly replaced by one of shock. He leaned far away, holding his glass suspended and assessing Justin head to toe. “What in the hell are you doing here?” he slurred.

  “I was seeing a friend to her room and decided to come in for a beer,” Justin lied. The last thing he wanted was to go into some drawn-out story of how he ended up here, playing Monopoly and spending the night with a woman he hardly knew. John Patrick wouldn’t believe him anyway.

  “The hot babe you introduced me to at your place?”

  Annoyance pricked Justin, inciting the same call to protect Sophia that he had felt in his driveway when John Patrick first met her. But before he could reply, the bartender came up, picked up the empty glass with one hand and swiped the bar with a damp towel with the other. “What can I bring you, buddy?”

  “Coors Light, please,” Justin answered, tamping down his aggravation. After all, John Patrick’s crassness didn’t apply to just Sophia; he had the same obnoxious attitude about all women. He hadn’t even respected his own sister.

  “I’ll take another,” John Patrick said, pointing to his half-empty glass.

  “Sorry, man,” the bartender said. “I gotta cut you off. You’re past your limit.”

  “I don’t have a limit, you asshole. Now bring me a damn drink or I’ll have your fuckin�
�� minimum-wage job. I know people.”

  And Justin knew the law was on the side of the man serving the drinks. He didn’t want the situation to get out of hand. “Sir, I’m a friend of his. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.” He turned his attention to John Patrick, “Come on, J. P. Let’s not make a scene.”

  To Justin’s amazement John Patrick agreed, offering a silly one-sided grin. “You’re right. Sorry, man,” he said to the bartender. “Didn’t mean any harm.”

  The bartender gave John Patrick a long hard look as he set the ice cold bottle of beer in front of Justin. Justin paid and, apparently satisfied trouble had been averted, the barman backed away and turned his attention to a television at the far end of the bar.

  Justin was about to tell his brother-in-law he had showed real maturity when John Patrick reached inside his jacket and pulled out an expensive-looking silver flask. Twisting his body away from the bartender’s view, he unscrewed the top, filled the near empty glass with amber liquid and lifted it to his lips. After a long swallow, he said, “Fuck that butt wipe. I’ll decide when I’ve had enough.”

  Alarms went off in Justin’s head. He was certain John Patrick was well past the legal alcohol limit for driving. The guy posed a threat not only to himself, but also to everyone else on the road. A stark memory exploded in Justin’s brain. The drunk driver who had taken Rachel replaced John Patrick in Justin’s mind’s eye and a deep pain almost made him cry out. Even after a year, he couldn’t bear to think of a drunk driver without feeling a mixture of revulsion, horror and grief. No way could he let his brother-in-law drive. A plan came to him. If he could lure John Patrick into a state of congeniality, he could then persuade him to let himself be driven home. “How come you’re drinking alone, J. P.?”

  “You wanna sell me your place?” John Patrick suddenly blurted, ignoring Justin’s question.

  Justin hesitated a few seconds before responding to the question that had come from out of the blue. Of course it wasn’t a new question. Justin had lost track of how many times John Patrick had asked it. He shook his head. “We’ve been all over this. Rachel picked out the place. I’ve told you, I’ll never sell.”

  “How about if I made it really worth your while?”

  Confused, Justin looked at him through narrowed eyelids.

  “Why are you so intent on buying my place? You live in a mansion on some of the best rangeland around. My place is too small to run cattle and it isn’t suitable for farming. I don’t get it.”

  John Patrick attempted to put his elbow on the bar but missed the edge and almost fell from his perch. Steadying himself, he sat straighter than normal and looked at Justin. “You really don’t know, do you? Your head is actually stuck so far up your ass that you don’t know.”

  Justin decided to keep the conversation going. As long as John Patrick was talking, he wasn’t drinking and driving. “I don’t guess I do. I thought you were willing to take it off my hands because you felt I’d be happier being away from the memories.”

  “Bullshit. I couldn’t care less about your damn memories. So you’re telling me that your half-Mex girlfriend hasn’t made her company’s pitch about the gas deposits?”

  “My girlfriend? You mean Sophia? She’s not my girlfriend and she hasn’t said a word about gas deposits, bank deposits or any other kind of deposits. She’s a schoolteacher.”

  John Patrick appeared to be studying him intently. “You really don’t know. I can’t believe you really don’t know.”

  Justin was running out of patience. This conversation was like riding a carousel. It kept going in a circle, never reaching a destination. And now he wanted off the ride. But while his patience had worn thin, his curiosity hadn’t. “Look, J. P. We’re friends, family even. We go back a long way. Why don’t you just cut out the bullshit and tell me the truth? It’s obvious now that concern for my well-being isn’t what’s had you hanging around me and my place the past year.”

  But even as he asked the question, a glimmer of understanding of John Patrick’s behavior began to glow deeply within Justin. He knew several rural property owners who had become rich overnight from gas producers drilling on their land.

  “You dumb shit,” John Patrick said. “You’re sitting on top of one of the richest gas pockets they’ve found since the Barnett Shale around Fort Worth. Your mineral rights are worth millions.”

  Justin could only blink while his brain tried to absorb what he had just heard. The business card left on his screen door suddenly made sense. Unfortunately, now, the friendship and concern his brother-in-law had shown him in the past few months also made sickening sense. Had Rachel’s spirit come because she was trying to tell him this news?

  “You want the truth?” John Patrick went on. “The truth is I’ve got plans. Big plans. And big plans need big money. You think I’m gonna live where I’m living, do what I’m doing, to my dying day? Because if you do, you’d better think again.”

  “You aren’t planning on leaving Felicia. Her dad would kill you.”

  “Let him try. That tightwad ol’ sonofabitch has never done a thing for me, but if I tell him I’m at the front of the line to get a piece of real estate with gas and oil rights, ol’ Boots will co-sign for me. Then, when the money starts rolling in from the royalties, I can pay off the loan and get free of Boots and his daughter both.”

  “But there must be other pieces of real estate you can buy. Why my place?”

  “’Cause I know for damn sure the gas is there. I know a woman who’s a geologist. She showed me the seismology reports months ago. Hell, man, I can’t fuck around forever. I want to get going on my plans.”

  “Don’t you know I would’ve helped you? If you had just asked me.”

  “That’s the whole fuckin’ point,” John Patrick said, his voice rising. “I don’t want anybody’s help. I can do it myself.” His shoulders sagged and he crumpled against the chair. “My whole damn life I’ve been telling people I could do it myself.”

  Justin looked at the diminutive man and his heart went out to him. He’d never before considered how difficult life might have been for him. Living in a part of the world where everything was supposed to be bigger, he had surely been the brunt of jokes his entire life.

  “What are these big plans you’re talking about?”

  “Brother, I intend to build the biggest honky-tonk in West Texas. On a par with Billy Bob’s in Fort Worth. West Texas needs something like that. I know you’re pure as the driven snow, Justin, but surely to God you’ve been to Billy Bob’s.”

  Justin felt his jaw drop. Indeed he had been in the Fort Worth honky-tonk once or twice. And every time he had gotten lost. Jesus, it covered three acres. It had thirty-two different bars. And John Patrick intended to re-create it in Odessa, Texas? “Uh, are you sure about this, J. P.?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m sure,” John Patrick answered. “I’m gonna get celebrities in. I figure people will come all the way from El Paso. New Mexico, even. I’m gonna introduce myself to Tag Freeman. You know Tag Freeman’s place in Midland, don’t you? I’m gonna see if ol’ Tag can get some of his rodeo celebrity friends to make appearances.”

  Tag Freeman was a world-famous rodeo bullfighter who had founded the family-oriented restaurant, Tag Freeman’s Double-Kicker Barbecue and Beer, in Midland. It was a rip-roaring success. Justin had eaten there many times. The man was a celebrity, for sure. “Well, yes, but—”

  “I might even get ol’ Tag to go in with me on a little barbecue joint inside the place,” John Patrick said.

  Just recalled his last visit to Billy Bob’s, where he had indeed eaten barbecue brought in from one of Fort Worth’s best barbecue establishments. He supposed John Patrick could have a similar arrangement if Tag Freemen agreed to go along.

  “I hear ol’ Tag’s best buds with Quint Matthews. You know who Quint Matthews is, don’t you?”

  The more John Patrick talked, the brighter a light glowed in his eyes. Justin could see his brother-in-law was dead
serious. “You mean the guy who’s been world champion bull rider three times? Everyone knows who Quint Matthews is. At least, everyone in Texas.”

  “Exactly,” John Patrick exclaimed. “Between him and Tag, they’re bound to know the whole rodeo industry. Not to mention country western music stars.”

  Justin studied John Patrick for a few seconds. Who was Justin Sadler to throw cold water on any man’s dreams? “Tell you what,” he said. “Give me your keys. I’ll drive you home tonight and after you sober up, we can sit down and discuss all of this. You can give me more details of your plans. You’ve got a better business head than I do. If I’m about to become a millionaire I can’t think of anyone who could give me better business advice.”

  John Patrick studied him for a long time, then suddenly reached into his pocket and produced a key fob. He handed it to Justin. “Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”

  “I’ll be back in five minutes. Wait for me here.”

  twenty-six

  As soon as Justin disappeared from the barroom, John Patrick hopped off the barstool, leveled a glare at the couple, who had snickered at him, and threw a wad of bills on the bar. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his second set of keys. He had never needed anyone to drive him home before and tonight wasn’t going to be the first time.

  Weaving as he went, he walked outside and made his way to the parked Cayenne, cursing himself for the stupid error he had made telling Justin his plans and disclosing the natural gas find. He might have had too much to drink, but he wasn’t so drunk he couldn’t comprehend the consequences of what he had done and said.

  But there was no point in beating himself up over it. Justin would have found out about the windfall eventually, no matter what happened. If not from the woman from El Paso, then any day now, from a representative of the drilling company who would make contact.