Gettin' Lucky (Love and Laughter)

by Raye, Kimberly

  “Can I see some ID, miss?” It was Smokey, leaning down, peering into the driver’s window to capture her in the glare of his aviator sunglasses.

  “You guys should have been here an hour ago,” Lucky said, handing him her identification and proof of insurance. “I wouldn’t have had to lug the spare out of the trunk myself.”

  “This is an Illinois license, miss, and it’s expired.”

  “Oops. I forgot.” One hand dived into the leather pouch hooked onto her radio knob. She rummaged through a mess of receipts, several sticks of chewing gum, a few tissues, until she finally found a crumpled slip of paper. “Here’s the current license. I’m new here. Transplanted from Chicago.” She gave him a wide smile.

  His expression didn’t even crack.

  So much for southern hospitality.

  Smokey scoured the papers, and Lucky had the sudden urge to check her speedometer. But she hadn’t been speeding. The car hadn’t even been moving. So why did she feel so guilty?

  A glimpse of naked flesh and rippling muscles flashed in front of her and her face grew hot. Her gaze cut to Smokey. Did he know? Had Tight Tush actually reported her for trespassing? He’d been so nice, so helpful, so... well, naked. She wiped a trickle of sweat from her temple. She hadn’t seen a cellular phone. Actually, she hadn’t seen much of anything besides—

  “Long way from Houston,” Smokey said.

  “Just four hours. Is there something wrong, Officer?”

  Silence stretched between them while Smokey handed her back her ID. “No,” he started, his gaze sweeping the interior of the car. “We’ve had some trouble nearby so we’re checking out all suspicious-looking vehicles—” The words stalled when those mirrored glasses came to rest on the wallet next to her.

  “I think you’d better step out of the car. Now. We just caught you red-handed, missy.”

  Lucky closed her eyes at Smokey’s words. How much time could she get for trespassing? Spying? Surely a fine was the most they could give her. “Look, this is all really just a big misunderstanding. I know I shouldn’t have climbed the fence, but I had no choice. The diet soda just ran right through me.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Smokey demanded.

  “Trespassing. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  “Hell, no, miss. We’re here about a burglary. The perpetrator was last spotted headed down this road, out of town.”

  “Burglary?” Was Tight Tush really a burglar? An escapee from the local prison farm? “He didn’t look like a dangerous criminal.” Okay, maybe dangerous, she amended silently. Very dangerous, to her sanity, that is.

  “You’re under arrest.”

  “Me? But I just had to go to the rest room. And there he was. I couldn’t help but look. Had I known he was a hardened criminal...” Her mouth went dry at the fitting vision the words conjured. “Er, that is, a criminal, I would have gone first thing to the cops. I swear—”

  “Tell it to the judge.” Smokey reached for handcuffs.

  “But I didn’t do anything wrong. You can’t arrest me for unwilling spying. I did trespass, but it was an emergency and—”

  “You’re not under arrest for trespassing or spying, missy. You’re under arrest for burglary.” He motioned to the wallet his sidekick had picked up from the front seat.

  “But I didn’t steal that. I found it.”

  “Check for a weapon, Billy,” Smokey told the sidekick.

  “I don’t have a gun!” she insisted. When he went to snap the handcuffs on her wrists, she tried to jerk free. “This is crazy! I was only taking a little leak, then a little peek, and I certainly didn’t rob anyone! This is unlawful arrest!”

  He snapped first one cuff on, then the other, before whirling her to face the cab. “Evidence doesn’t lie. A wallet and several other items were reported stolen by Mr. Tyler Grant and we just found you in possession of that wallet.” He started to pat her down and Lucky’s face flamed hotter. He reached her sides and she erupted into a fit of giggles.

  “Ahhhhhh ! Please! Stop it,” she begged, choking when tears started in her eyes. Another pat, another suppressed giggle and Smokey held up a pack of bubble gum. “I didn’t know gum was considered dangerous in this state,” she snorted, her eyes still watering, nerves still tingling.

  “Quiet, missy. You find anything else besides the wallet?” he asked Billy. “Any of the other stuff?”

  “A couple of packs of chewing gum, an air freshener, a flashlight. Back seat’s clean.”

  “Maybe she hid the rest, or ditched some of it when she saw us coming. Dammit, I told Tyler not to bring no city woman out here. Steal you blind if you ain’t careful.”

  “But I didn’t steal that wallet. I was returning it!”

  Smokey didn’t acknowledge her frantic words. He slammed and locked the cab’s doors, then shoved her keys into his pocket.

  “I’m innocent! I was bringing the wallet back. Back!”

  “Just calm down, ma’am,” Billy said as he stepped forward, a puzzled look on his face. “Didn’t Tyler say she hightailed it out of here in Mitchell Pike’s old Chevy?” His gaze swept the cab. “This don’t look like Pike’s old rattletrap to me.”

  “Criminals ditch stolen cars all the time,” Smokey said.

  “You’ve been watching too many Adam-12’ reruns,” Billy told Smokey. “What criminal in their right mind would trade Pike’s Chevy for a cab? Sort of conspicuous if you ask me.”

  “Nobody asked you,” Smokey grumbled. He guided her into the back of the waiting patrol car. “If Tyler wanted someone to teach his daughter how to be a lady,” Smokey went on, “he should’ve hired Merline over at the Piggly Wiggly. The woman’s about as ladylike as you can get. Carries a linen handkerchief to church, and cooks the meanest fried chicken...”

  Merline? The Piggly Wiggly? Burglary?

  It wasn’t hell she’d landed in. It was the Twilight Zone. A weird, twisted episode Texas style. She half expected to hear Rod Serling’s deep voice, with the “Yellow Rose of Texas” playing in the background.

  Not that even one moment of this nightmare actually surprised her, not with her never-ending string of rotten luck. But she was in Texas, of all places, and Texans were supposed to be nicer, weren’t they?

  More like kookier, from the looks of things. Way kooky.

  “This is crazy,” she said as the car sped down the road. “You can’t arrest me when I haven’t done anything.”

  “Maybe she’s telling the truth,” Billy said as he turned to Smokey. “Don’t forget Pike’s truck.”

  “We found her with the evidence, Billy. Tyler reported his wallet stolen by a woman, a strange woman, not from around here. Can’t get any stranger than her.”

  “Have you looked in the mirror lately, fella?” Lucky’s words earned her a quick glare.

  “Could be like she said.” Billy glanced at her. “Got kind of an honest face, don’t you think? Honest eyes? And what burglar in her right mind would swipe a cab for a getaway car?” Billy shook his head. “Come on, Hank. The chief 11 be some kind of mad if he has to postpone his fishing trip for nothing.”

  “Doggone it.” Smokey shook his head. “Oh, all right. If it’ll shut you up, I’ll take her out to Tyler’s first.” The car nosed for the shoulder, then made a complete turn.

  “Finally some justice,” Lucky said. Tyler Grant could tell these bozos she wasn’t the robber, she could return his wallet, ask for her eighty-dollar fare and get the hell out of Dodge. Or Ulysses. Or wherever she was.

  They drove a good twenty minutes before she spotted the house, a sprawling one-story structure set at least a half mile back from the road. A lush green lawn surrounded the place. Several trees stood tall and proud, their large, lazy branches shielding the surrounding yard from the blinding sunlight.

  It wasn’t one of those fake mansion-style homes. No, this place looked lived in. It made you think of homemade apple pie and picnics. Just the sort of place that should have a bunch o
f kids racing back and forth across the grass. A few swings hanging from the trees. Bicycles on the huge porch out front. A cozy wicker love seat just the right size for Lucky and a certain naked stranger...

  The car made a sharp turn, effectively killing the vision. They jerked to a stop outside the house. Smokey climbed from behind the wheel and stomped to the front door.

  “Chicago,” Billy started. “Why, I bet they got all kinds of ice-cream flavors, being a big city and all...”

  Smokey disappeared inside the house and Lucky was left listening to Billy discuss the merits of wild raspberry delight versus chocolate fudge ecstasy.

  “Here they come,” Lucky said when Smokey appeared in the doorway. Lucky tried to stare past him to the man that followed, but she couldn’t make out more than a tanned arm here and there, a jeans-clad thigh, scuffed boots.

  “Seems you’re off the hook, missy,” Smokey grumbled as he yanked open the door, pulled Lucky from the seat and unlocked the cuffs. “Tyler here says you ain’t the thief.”

  “At least someone around here has some sense—” The words died when she turned to find herself staring up at the delicious naked stranger with the unforgettable buns. “You! You didn’t tell me you were Tyler Grant.”

  “I didn’t know you were looking for him.”

  “Well, yes. I found his—your—wallet this morning.”

  “This reunion’s sweet and all,” Smokey cut in, “but Billy and I got a burglar to catch.” He tipped his hat at Tyler and said, “Keep you posted.”

  “Wait a second.” She whirled as the car doors slammed shut “You guys have my keys—” The rest of her sentence drowned in the rev of an engine. The police car bolted down the driveway, gravel spewing from the rear tires.

  “I have your keys,” came the deep voice behind her. “And relax. I’ll give you a ride back as soon as you tell me how you got my wallet.”

  “Like I told Smokey, I found it in the back of my cab.” She turned to find Tight Tush staring at her with his heated eyes. Mesmerizing blue eyes as deep as the Caribbean. The kind of blue you could wade waist-deep through and still see your toes. She forced her gaze from his to look at the rest of him. He was far from au naturel now, yet he looked every bit as Marlboro-man masculine with his denim shirt, faded jeans and worn cowboy boots. A far cry from Buster and his bowling buddies.

  “So you found my wallet?”

  “In the back of my cab after I dropped off your wife.”

  “My wife?” Incredulity etched his features for a shocked moment.. “Well, how do you like that?” he finally said. Then he burst out laughing. But it wasn’t a happy sound. Anger flashed in his eyes, turning them a deep, fathomless turquoise. “Beautiful. Just friggin’ beautiful.”

  “She was.”

  “Who?”

  “Your wife.”

  “Honey, she wasn’t my wife.”

  “But she was carrying your wallet and...” Her sentence trailed off as Smokey’s voice echoed in her mind...burglary. “You mean she was—I’ve been carrying around hot property?”

  “Scorching, but the wallet wasn’t the only thing she ripped off. She took the entire contents of my safe. Nearly fifty thousand dollars’ worth of money and jewelry. Hightailed it out of here before daybreak.”

  “In Mitchell Pike’s truck,” Lucky added. “And she headed straight for Houston where she probably ditched the truck. Then I taxied her to the airport for a clean getaway. To top it off, she stiffed me for an eighty-dollar cab fare. I’m an idiot,” she muttered, closing her eyes. “I can’t believe I fell for the story like a big sap. A heart attack, of all things.”

  “She had a heart attack?”

  “No, her father did, or she said he did. She was racing to catch a plane so she could rush to his side and nurse him back to health like some Florence Nightingale. Why, the lying, conniving, sleazy little—”

  “Daddy! Phone!”

  Lucky’s gaze darted to the open doorway behind him.

  Daddy. This mega babe was a dad?

  “Daaadeee!” The shrill voice stretched each syllable.

  “I’ll be right there.” A frown creased his features. “I would really like to ask you a few more questions, Miss...I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

  “Lucky. Lucky Myers.”

  “Lucky?”

  “It’s a nickname. Lucretia...Lucky.”

  Another shrill “Daddy!” from inside and he said, “Please. Come in a few minutes while I take this call, then we’ll talk.”

  He led her inside the house, into a large room. “You can wait here in the library.”

  Old movie posters were plastered on the dark-paneled walls. There was Giant, East of Eden, Rebel Without a Cause, The Maltese Falcon, Casablanca, Key Largo and at least a dozen others. They covered every spare inch not lined with book shelves. An antique movie projector sat on top of the book shelf nearest her.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “Does that work?”

  “Supposedly.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I’ve only been back a few months, and watching old movies hasn’t been on the top of my list.”

  “Where were you before?”

  “Houston.”

  “Home?”

  “No” he said a little too sharply and she glanced up to see a strange light in his ocean eyes. “This is home.”

  She smiled. “It feels like a home. Warm, cozy, though it’s bigger than the entire first floor of my apartment building.”

  “And where is that?”

  “Houston, too. But it’s not much of a home. Not yet, anyway. But then six months isn’t really enough time to get settled. I’m originally from Chicago, born and bred.” She blinked at the sudden burning in her eyes and sought a distraction. Her gaze went to a glass cabinet sitting in one corner. Inside sat a cowboy hat and a pair of boots.

  “A shrine to the great James Dean,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “Rumor has it he wore those in the movie Giant.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  He shook his head. “My dad swears it.” When her gaze went to the movie projector and the rows of old movie reels, he added, “Those are the real thing, too.”

  “This is great.” She trailed her hand over the projector.

  “You like old movies?”

  “Old, new. I like them all.”

  “A woman after my dad’s heart.”

  A woman after your heart, she thought, then quickly discarded the notion. A lifetime and she hadn’t managed to win anyone’s heart. What could she possibly accomplish in the thirty or so minutes before she’d be on her way back to Houston? She was the invisible, flat-chested woman and he was Playgirl’s stud of the month. They were on opposite sides of the universe. There was no connection. Nothing.

  He smiled, her heart shifted and she averted her gaze lest she salivate right then and there.

  “So what about you?” she asked. “You like old movies?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not much of a movie buff. In fact, I’ve been after Dad to do away with some of this stuff, but he’s so stubborn.”

  “But it’s great—”

  “Daddy! Grandmother’s on the phone!”

  “Five minutes,” he promised Lucky as he headed out of the room. The way her hormones were chanting, she knew they’d be the five longest minutes of her life.

  3

  “IT’S ABOUT TIME, Daddy.” Bernadette Willemina Grant stood in Tyler’s study, one hand planted on her hip, the telephone receiver clutched in her other. His twelve-year-old daughter wore a nearly threadbare T-shirt, faded jeans and large black rubber boots that crept halfway up her thighs. Helen would have his hide for sure.

  He sat down at his desk and tried not to smile. “What happened to the dress Mabel put out for you this morning?”

  “Daddy,” she groaned, giving him a what-horse-just-walloped-you-in-the-head? look. “Jed’s waiting for me. I’m helping him clean out Liz’s stall.”

  “So you
’re all done with your schoolwork and piano lessons?”

  “Of course not, Daddy.”

  “Well, shouldn’t you be finishing it instead of cleaning out stalls? And honey, you really ought to put on a dress.”

  She rolled her eyes. “How am I supposed to concentrate, with Liz wallowing around in a stinky stall? And a dress—” she made a face “—I can’t help Jed if I’m wearing a dress. Come on, Daddy. Mabel says it’s okay if you say it’s okay. I told her you would because you’ve always been a huge supporter of animal rights—”

  “Go, but finish your lessons right after dinner, is that clear? And put on something nice when you’re done in the barn.”

  “Thanks, Daddy.” She gave him a quick kiss and bolted from the room. Her three-sizes-too-large boots slapped against the hardwood floor and Tyler couldn’t help smiling.

  “I was just getting ready to hang up,” the woman’s voice snapped the minute he said hello.

  “Sorry you had to wait, but I was in a meeting—”

  “That illustrates my point exactly, Tyler. Bernadette needs more attention. Do you know what she wants for a pet? Forget a nice French poodle or a cockapoo. She wants a lizard. Now, I don’t have anything against reptiles. I have nearly ten alligator handbags. But my granddaughter wanting to nurture a live reptile causes me a bit of concern. When Nan was twelve, she was looking forward to her coming out. She’d roll over in her grave if she knew what you were allowing her daughter—”

  “Our daughter, Helen. Nan and I made Bernadette together, and she isn’t a Bell-Whitman. She’s a Grant.”

  “My Nan’s blood still runs through Bernadette’s veins. Now, Tyler, you really should consider sending her back to Houston. Smithston’s already agreed to let her start midsemester. They’ve got one of the best academic programs around and they offer dance lessons, etiquette, fashion coordination—everything Bernadette needs at her age.”

  “What makes you so sure she isn’t already learning everything she needs to right here?”

  Helen laughed. “Come now, Tyler. One top-notch governess in no way compares to an entire staff of highly qualified personnel, and Ulysses isn’t exactly the social seat.”