Gettin' Lucky (Love and Laughter)

by Raye, Kimberly

  WHILE LUCKY WHEELED and dealed with Bennie, Tyler listened to Helen drone on about her newest charity project and kept a watchful eye on the door. Where the hell were they?

  “...we’re planning a special theme for the event, grandmothers and granddaughters, and it’s sure to be one of the biggest galas this season.”

  “Wonderful,” he murmured as Mabel walked in with a tray of canapés.

  Helen surveyed the hors d’oeuvres. “My Clara uses artichokes instead of mushrooms.”

  “Artichokes overwhelm the taste,” Mabel declared, despite the warning look Tyler gave her. “Mushrooms bring out the spices used in the bottom layer of homemade relish.”

  Helen shook her head. “Perhaps that’s the way things are prepared out here, but in Houston we do things a little differently. My chef, Clara, trained at La Dubois in Paris. Did you know that, Tyler?”

  “Don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.” Tyler didn’t miss the flush of anger creeping into Mabel’s face. Uh-oh.

  “Come now,” Helen said, and laughed. “La Dubois is one of the best restaurants in the world. Five-plus stars. Now, now,” she added when Mabel’s face looked ready to explode. “No one expects five-star cuisine way out here, dear. I’m sure your mushrooms are very... tasty.”

  “I like mushrooms,” Tyler piped in, but it didn’t ease the harsh lines around Mabel’s mouth. He gave Mabel his biggest smile. “So what’s for dinner?”

  “Your head on a platter,” Mabel whispered as she whisked past him with the platter of canapés.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t hear her.” Helen cast a curious gaze on him. “What did she say?”

  “It’s a surprise.” Tyler poured himself a glass of Scotch and downed it in one quick gulp. “Mabel loves surprises.”

  “You really shouldn’t drink so quickly. It looks positively uncivilized. Speaking of which, where is your father?”

  “He had an upset stomach. He’ll be having dinner in his room.”

  “Did he have some of Mabel’s canapés?”

  “Afraid not. He saved them all for you.” Okay, as much as he wanted to please Helen, he had his limits.

  “He shouldn’t have bothered, but what a...lovely gesture, I suppose. Such a sweet old thing. Do give him my regrets. I was looking forward to seeing the poor man again.”

  “Rest assured, he’s equally heartbroken.” Or he would be heartbroken, if he had to sit and listen to Helen all evening. She was too much a reminder of Tyler’s mother, and her presence never failed to cause a bout of depression in Ulysses, and an insatiable craving for Maalox.

  He motioned to Helen. “Let’s go into the dining room.”

  “Merle’s still not here.” She glanced at the diamond Rolex circling her wrist. “If it’s a business dinner, he’s early, but tack on the word social, and he’ll be late every time. I should have taken his cellular phone away before I got out of the car. By the way, where is Bernadette?”

  “Right here, Grandmother.” Bennie appeared in the doorway.

  Tyler’s gaze moved to the lace-scalloped white dress Bennie wore, the matching quarter-inch pumps. He blinked. His Bennie? Wearing a dress and smiling at the same time?

  “Darling!” Helen cried, opening her arms wide. Dutifully, Bennie walked into her grandmother’s embrace.

  “You got her to put on a dress,” Tyler said, sidling up beside Lucky who stood in the doorway, one hand braced on the doorjamb. “I’m impressed.”

  “Piece of cake.” She smiled at Helen who smiled at Bennie, obviously pleased with her granddaughter’s wardrobe choice.

  “Do you remember the drill?” he asked.

  “Wealthy oilman, kids, Scotland...piece of cake.”

  “Miss Myers,” Helen started, but the clatter of dishes from the dining room effectively drowned out the rest of her sentence. Every gaze turned toward the archway.

  “Dinner is served,” Mabel announced, her face pinched into a frown directed solely at Helen.

  “I don’t suppose we’re having a nice big piece of Bubble Yum?” Lucky whispered, her eyes hopeful as Tyler steered her forward, all the while conscious of Helen’s intense gaze.

  “Remember the story and I’ll buy you an entire case of the stuff,” he promised in a low voice. His grip tightened ever so lightly when Lucky snagged her heel on the plush carpet and started to pitch forward.

  “What do you think of my dress, Grandmother?” Bennie piped up, effectively distracting Helen while Lucky caught her balance.

  “Lovely, dear. Just lovely.” Helen followed Bennie, who twirled toward the dining room. “Wait until you see the outfit I brought for you. It’s simply divine.”

  “What did you do to my daughter?” he whispered to Lucky.

  “We have an agreement. She scratches my back and I scratch hers. So to speak.” A warm giggle passed her lips.

  The sound filtered through Tyler’s head, skimming his nerve endings like champagne bubbles tickling his nose. A strange warmth flooded him.

  Think cool thoughts, he told himself. Searching for a lost calf during the dead of winter. Plunging into an ice-cold creek after hours of herding cattle.

  Try as he might, though, he couldn’t summon any goose bumps, or push away the enticing image of Lucky underneath him, soft and warm and open. Especially with her so close.

  She was good, all right. A woman who knew how to rope, hog-tie and brand a man without him ever knowing what happened.

  “Here.” He thrust her into a chair so fast she had to catch the edge of the table to keep from tipping over. He skipped a chair and sat down, ignoring her raised eyebrow. Bennie took her seat opposite Tyler, and Helen sat down beside her.

  “Well, it’s about time,” Helen declared, her gaze darting to the dining-room doorway. “We were about to start dinner without you.”

  Tyler turned to see his father-in-law, a large man with gray hair and matching eyes, looking impeccable in a charcoal suit.

  “Good to see you, Tyler,” Merle said, clapping Tyler on the shoulder and giving him a quick handshake before rounding the table to hug his granddaughter and sit on her free side.

  “Whatever took you so long—” Helen’s sentence drowned in a high-pitched buzz.

  “Hold that thought, dear.” Merle reached into his coat and pulled out a cellular phone. “Whitman here,” he barked into the phone, before mumbling, “Excuse me, I have to take this call.”

  “So,” Helen said as a scowling Mabel started ladling soup into everyone’s bowl. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Myers. You’re from the Dalton Agency, correct?”

  “Yes, she is,” Tyler interjected. “She’s one of their best. She’s been living in Scotland the past few years, caring for the children of a rich Texas oilman.”

  “Why, I know nearly every oil family in the state. What’s his name?”

  “Uh, Mel,” Lucky stammered, shooting Tyler a panicked look. “I mean, er, Dale. Dale...Stinson. Yes, Dale Stinson.”

  “Dale Stinson?” Helen asked. “You say he’s in oil?”

  “Among other things.”

  “Well, I can’t say as I’ve ever heard of him. Merle—” she turned to her husband “—do you know any Stinsons?”

  “Tell him no,” Merle grumbled into the phone before throwing Helen a distracted glance. “What, dear?”

  “Stinsons. Do you know any Stinsons?” He shook his head and Helen went on, “The name certainly strikes a familiar chord. Tyler, are you acquainted with this Mr. Stinson?”

  “Not personally, but I’ve heard of him. Mr. Stinson is very busy overseas. Scotland is practically his first home.”

  Helen stared expectantly at Lucky. “What part of Scotland?”

  “Glasgow,” Tyler fired off before Lucky could open her mouth. “That reminds me, isn’t there a display of Scottish armament at the Museum of Fine Arts? Speaking of museums, I’m sure Bennie would love to hear about the new addition to the children’s museum.”

  “Oh, yes. The new wing will be splendid.
And with me as chairwoman for the fund-raising gala, it’s sure to be the event of the season...” Her voice droned on as Lucky turned her attention to the silverware surrounding the bowl of soup in front of her.

  Tyler reached for the appropriate utensil and felt Lucky’s anxious gaze on him. She followed his every move as he silently coached her through the soup and salad. To her credit, she carried off everything as if she’d been born to it. Tyler actually started to relax. By the time they reached the chicken entrée, he was even enjoying himself. There were worse things than being stared at by an attractive woman. Then the evening took a sharp turn toward Disaster City.

  Bernadette, a fidgety audience for her grandmother who talked nonstop about the upcoming fund-raiser, shifted in her chair. Her expression went from attentive to uncomfortable, to desperate. She stared at Lucky. Their gazes met for all of three seconds, then Lucky’s fork clattered to the table.

  “Those Scottish,” Lucky declared in a loud voice that made even Merle pause, cellular phone in hand. “Talk about ingenious. You know, I never knew that mooning was a historical part of battle.”

  Tyler’s jaws locked around a bite of chicken.

  “Then there it was on the big screen, Mel Gibson flashing his assets for the entire English army. I realized then why the Scottish really wear those kilts. Definitely a distraction if there’s five hundred guys waiting to slice you into mincemeat.”

  Helen looked horrified.

  Tyler swallowed and bolted out of his chair. “If you’ll excuse us. I think Miss Myers is having one of her spells.”

  “Spells?” Lucky asked.

  “Hot spells. Where you get dizzy, disoriented, stupid.” He muttered the last word for her ears only.

  “Oh, yes, yes. One of my spells.” She fanned her face dramatically and let him usher her out of her chair.

  “You look like you’re the one having the spell,” Lucky said in a hushed whisper. “You’re all red.”

  “That’s because my butt is in the hot seat,” he hissed, steering her toward the door. “And you just put me there.”

  “Oh no,” she replied as he whisked her out into the hallway. “I would never do that to you or your butt,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “Especially your butt.”

  6

  “LEAVE MY BUTT out of this.” Tyler whirled on her.

  “You were the one who brought it up. And since you did, I’ve been meaning to tell you. It’s quite impressive.”

  “What are you? A butt connoisseur?”

  “Some women like muscular arms, some like hands, some like chests, I like butts. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, except you don’t have to go pointing it out to my mother-in-law, who, by the way, is supposed to think you’re a high-society nanny.”

  “So nannies can’t like butts?”

  “You’re insane.” His frustrated whisper echoed off the paneled walls. “I say, ‘Don’t talk. Don’t invite questions.’ Do you listen? Of course not. Hell, you not only talk, you go ninety to nothing about men showing off their butts and their—”

  “Keep your voice down or they’ll hear you.” Lucky motioned to the partially open door leading to the dining room. The heel of his boot shot out, the door slammed shut and Lucky jumped.

  “You deliberately drew attention to yourself when I had her distracted,” he hissed, “talking about her fund-raiser.”

  “You had her looking at Bennie with every other word.”

  “So?”

  “Soooo,” she exaggerated the word. “Being a lady isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Take me for instance. I’m all decked out in this blouse and skirt, stockings, slip—the whole package, and I look very ladylike, but as for comfort...” She slid her feet free of the killer heels. “These shoes are straight out of an episode of Torture Devices of the Strange and Deranged.”

  “What do your shoes have to do with the hot topic of butts?”

  “Nothing. They’re just an example of what we women endure to make you men happy. Which brings me to my point. You wanted Bennie in a dress. She agreed, but there were conditions.”

  “What conditions?”

  “That I would sort of help her out if she needed to scratch. You see, all that lace is very uncomfortable. I know because there was this time in the fifth grade when I got picked to be the fairy princess in the Christmas pageant. Not that I wanted to be the fairy princess. I wanted to be the troll that lived under the bridge. He got to wear a beard and boots and carry this leather scabbard, not that it was real, but it looked real and... Anyway, I was too tall for the troll, so I wound up in lace tights and fairy wings, and I was still too tall. The tights were too small, and every time I moved they slipped lower and the lace rubbed my skin raw.”

  “Let me get this straight, you launched into a discussion about Mel Gibson’s butt and screwed things up with Helen, just so Bernadette could scratch herself?”

  She nodded and watched him digest the information, his face solemn, his eyes as hard as turquoise chips. Just when the tension was thick enough to smother her, he burst out laughing.

  “You’re not mad?” she blurted out.

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “Well, scratching’s not very ladylike, and I didn’t exactly keep my end of the bargain, but I had to talk fast, and I was nervous.” She gave Tyler a wide-eyed look. “What do we do now?”

  “We don’t do anything. I’ll head back in there and see if I can patch up any mess you made. And you,” he said, glancing at his watch, “are off the hook for now. Dinner is practically finished. I’ll just tell Helen the spell got worse and you called it a night.”

  She took a deep breath. “So it’s over.”

  “Almost over,” he corrected. “After another quick performance at breakfast, you’ll be finished, Helen will be out of here and I’ll be off the hook.” He passed a hand over his face and she noticed how tired he suddenly looked.

  Her heart gave a painful thud.

  “I’m really sorry if I messed things up.”

  “At least it was for a good cause.” His fingertips brushed her jaw, straightening the silk collar that had somehow turned up. “But under no circumstances bring up the subject again.”

  “Deal,” she said, hoping her voice sounded even while her senses were spinning. Bouncing. Doing a very fast, furious version of the macarena.

  “Thanks for helping Bennie,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  “For what?”

  For making me feel like Dorothy spinning away into the unknown. For making my heart pound so fast I feel as if I’m having cardiac arrest. For making me feel things I haven’t ever felt before. “For not being mad,” she finally said. “And for having the best pair of buns I’ve ever seen.”

  An odd glimmer lit his eyes. “I’m not going near the buns comment, but I’m certainly not angry.” He touched her shoulder and trailed his fingertips down her arm. “Though I’m not so sure about mad.”

  Before she could question him, he pulled his hand away, his fingers skimming the side of one breast in the process.

  “Sleep tight.” He turned to stride back into the dining room while she stood there, barely breathing, trying to figure out what had just happened between them.

  He’d touched her. Not just touched, but caressed. Her nipple stood at attention beneath the cream silk blouse and a wave of heat flooded her face.

  Not that his touch meant anything. Tyler Grant was a flirt, a lady-killer, a wildcatter, wielding charm and sex appeal like Rambo with an Uzi. A girl had to be careful. She could enjoy the attention, the flirting, the whole seduction game, but she couldn’t forget whom she was playing with, no matter how her traitorous hormones tried to claim amnesia.

  It was just a game, and Tyler Grant was one smooth player. And for the first time, Lucky was off the bench and smack-dab in the middle of the action.

  “CHECKMATE!” Helen cried after the shortest chess game in the history of the w
orld. “Didn’t you see me coming, Tyler? Why, even a child wouldn’t have made that last move. It played right into my hands.” The implications were there, but Helen was too pleased at winning against Tyler, who never lost a chess match, to see it as anything more than a well deserved victory.

  “You must be feeling a little under the weather, son,” Merle said, sparing a glance at the chessboard before he resumed his pacing. His steps paused periodically as he dictated into a microcassette recorder.

  “Actually, there must be something going around.” Tyler patted his middle. “I’m feeling a little queasy. I think I’ll look in on Bennie then call it a night.”

  “But it’s only a little after nine,” Helen cried. “I was hoping we would have a chance to discuss Bernadette’s enrollment at Smithston. I’ve brought the brochures and an application—”

  Tyler interrupted with an exaggerated moan. “Cramp,” he croaked in explanation, clutching his middle.

  “This isn’t one of those spells your nanny had, is it?” Her words dripped sarcasm and Merle patted her shoulder.

  “Now, now, dear. The woman couldn’t help herself. You heard Tyler. It hits her suddenly. That’s understandable with her being so accustomed to the cool Scottish weather. This must be quite a change for her, though I can’t say as I’ve ever heard of a heat allergy.”

  “I’m sure my cramp had nothing to do with an allergy,” Tyler assured them. “Probably something I ate.”

  “I bet it’s the mushrooms,” he heard Helen tell Merle after he’d bid them both good-night and started for the hallway. “They’re dangerous. Not fit for civilized taste buds.”

  “You’re allergic to mushrooms,” Merle said.

  “I am not. I have an iron constitution. The Bells don’t have allergies, dear. We’re all as healthy as horses.”

  Their voices faded as Tyler headed down the hall, past the kitchen and library. He turned a corner toward Bennie’s room.

  “I tell you, Ulysses.” Mabel’s voice carried from his father’s partially open bedroom door. “That woman is downright rude. Imagine her criticizing my food. Why, I’ve won the annual pie competition for the past five years in a row. That woman wouldn’t know a frying pan if it jumped out of the cupboard and bit her on the rump. And it wouldn’t have a lick of trouble finding its target...”