“I do not have a lead foot.”
“Pretty as it is, it is lead,” he said dryly. He pulled his cap farther down his forehead again and made a point of tightening his own seat belt. “Okay, Johnny Racer, let ’er rip.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my driving,” she muttered under her breath as she drove out of the park. Just because she’d gotten a couple speeding tickets over the last few years...
Not that he could possibly know about them.
But the damage was done, and she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious driving across town to the address he’d written down.
Even though she’d expected bad traffic, by the time they were within a few miles of the library, the streets were entirely congested. “I’ve never seen it this bad,” she murmured, as she switched lanes yet again, trying to inch forward. “Whatever your meeting is, I doubt you’ll be the only one who’s late.”
“It’s not a meeting. It’s a personal appearance.” He was obviously paying close attention to their progress. He pointed toward a multistoried building about a mile away. “Is that the library?”
“Yes.”
“Keep watch for a black pickup. She ought to be around here somewhere.”
Billie started to smile, thinking he was joking.
This was Texas, after all. Pickup trucks were a dime a dozen.
But then he pointed again, this time at an enormous black dually parked on the side of the road. “There she is. Pull over.”
There were cars on either side of them, so it took a little doing. By the time Billie drew next to the curb, though, the pickup’s driver—a slender, brown-haired woman—had gotten out and was jogging toward them.
Grayson lowered his window and took the bulky bag of stuff the woman shoved in for him. Only then did Billie realize the woman was older than she’d initially appeared.
“Cutting it mighty close, son,” she said before sticking her arm through the window and right across his nose. “Appreciate you playing chauffeur for Grayson. Would be pretty embarrassing for us if he didn’t show up this afternoon.”
Grayson had pulled an electric razor out of the bag of stuff. “Billie Pemberton, my mother, Deborah Fortune.”
More than a little bemused, Billie shook the hand the woman was offering. “I’m happy to help, Mrs. Fortune.”
“Just Deborah.” The woman smiled and pulled back from the car. “Entrance is in the back of the library,” she told Grayson. “The press is already there. No doubt hoping for something savory after last night’s nonsense, so try to behave.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Grayson was wielding the buzzing razor over his bristled jaw.
Then Deborah was jogging back to her truck.
And it finally dawned on Billie that the increased traffic was because of him.
It was all well and good to assure him that he wasn’t the first celebrity client she’d ever had.
Except that she’d been lying through her teeth. Oh, she’d had wealthy clients, to be sure. But not ones who literally stopped up traffic.
Still shaving, he tossed his bag into the back seat. Then he pushed open the car door.
For some reason, panic filled her. “Where are you going?”
“Rear seat.” As quickly as he said the words, he’d climbed in the back of the car. “Roll up the windows, would you? Probably be a good idea if nobody catches sight of me like this.”
Her fingers shook a little as she pressed the electric buttons. In seconds, the interior of the car was once more dimmed by the tinted windows. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Now what?”
He turned off the razor and ran his fingers over his now-smooth jaw. “Now you get me as close to the back entrance of the library as you can.” Evidently satisfied with the shaving job, he tossed the razor down and upended the bag’s contents and started yanking off his T-shirt.
She blamed her sluggish brain on the poutine.
The contents of the bag were blue jeans. Boots. Trademark black cowboy hat.
He wasn’t sitting in the back seat of her gunboat of a vehicle because he wanted to arrive at his appearance “in style,” but because he needed the space to change his clothes.
She jerked around until she was facing forward. But it wasn’t fast enough to miss the amused look on his face.
Feeling hot, she abruptly decided against maneuvering her car back into the line of vehicles that wasn’t moving anywhere, anyway. Instead, she used the empty parking lane to back up until she could turn down a narrow alley.
But not even the sound of gravel beneath her tires was enough to mask the rustle of clothing from the rear. “Suppose you have to, uh, do this a lot,” she said a little too loudly.
“You do, huh?”
She heard the distinctive sound of a zipper and would have closed her eyes if not for the fact that she was driving like a madwoman down a narrow alley.
“At least there’s more room back here than the last time I was pulling on my jeans in the back seat of a car.”
Despite herself, her gaze flew to the rearview mirror.
The laughter in his eyes captured hers.
You’d think she was still a virgin the way her cheeks felt perpetually heated around him.
She’d reached the end of the alley and quickly shot across the cross street, turning up yet another alley.
“You do know where you’re going, I hope,” he commented calmly. “Seeing as how we seem to be traveling away from the library.”
“Short cut.” Not by distance, but she was banking on the traffic sticking to actual streets, versus the back alleyways. As long as she didn’t encounter a delivery truck or a garbage truck blocking her way, she knew she could make good progress. “In high school, my cousin Max and I delivered pizza around here. We had the best delivery times out of everyone.” She cringed, realizing she’d mentioned Max’s name.
But common sense reminded her that Grayson had no reason to connect Billie Pemberton’s cousin Max with his rodeo competitor Max Vargas.
And Grayson was chuckling, anyway. “Pizza, huh?”
Despite her intentions, her eyes strayed to the rearview mirror again.
She got an eyeful of bare, tanned chest before he started buttoning up his long-sleeved white shirt. And a moment later, just as she turned up yet another alley, he disappeared from view and suddenly a stocking-clad foot was hanging over the back of her seat while he tried to work on a gleaming cowboy boot.
It was accompanied by a lot of swearing that, surprisingly, had her relaxing a little.
She turned down the last alleyway, having bypassed all the traffic, and was now coming at the library from the opposite direction. She sailed past two television trucks and three police vehicles, nipped through the library’s delivery entrance and finally came to a stop near the back door. She’d delivered her client safely to the drop-off point. But there was no sign of the black truck his mother had been driving.
* * *
When the car engine died, Grayson grabbed his cowboy hat and raked his fingers through his hair. It was starting to curl up at the ends, which meant it was past time to get it cut, though he wasn’t sure when he’d find the time to fit it in.
Then he looked out the windows of Billie’s car and was more than a little impressed. “We beat my mother here.”
“Unless she parked elsewhere, it would seem so.” Billie gave him a quick glance over her shoulder. “Do you, um, need anything else?”
“Jeans are zipped and shirt buttons don’t seem to be mismatched, so I guess not.” He said it for the pure pleasure of watching her cheeks turn pink. “I really do owe you one.” He pushed open the back door of the car. “You want to come inside?”
She hesitated. “Are you sure it would be okay?”
He laughed at that. “Pretty sure.” He climbed out and planted his hat on his head, then opened her door for her and held out his hand.
She stared at it. “Maybe I should just go.”
“Oh, for God’s sa
ke.” He reached in and took the keys out of her ignition, then closed his hand around hers. “Come on.”
She had to scramble to keep up with him. Which was what he’d intended. He pressed the fob on the keys, locking her vehicle as he crossed to the back entrance of the library.
Deborah pulled up in the truck then, looking more frazzled. “This traffic is nuts,” she said, as she joined them. She was carrying a box of the signed head shots. “Guess that’s what happens when Grayson and the governor of the great state of Texas decide to show up together for the same event.”
Grayson felt Billie’s hand suddenly drag against his.
“Governor?” She looked stunned. “What is going on here?”
“Nothing,” he assured her. But he could see Claudia Decker ahead of them, and knew whatever control he’d had that day was soon to be dust in the wind. She was the governor’s sister and was positively gleeful over managing to get the two of them there for the opening of her latest literacy project.
He squeezed Billie’s hand before letting go. “Stay with my mother. She’ll protect you. And the two of you can figure out when I’m free to meet with you again. Got a rodeo in Coleman this weekend, then a quick trip to Montana for a couple days.”
“But—”
“Grayson!” Claudia had reached him and presented her expensively youthful cheek for his kiss. “I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. We’re all set up in the new wing.”
He dutifully kissed her cheek and let her lead him away.
But he couldn’t keep from looking back toward Billie.
She was standing next to his mother, and for a moment, something strange inside his chest tightened.
Then the governor and his security contingent arrived, and he lost sight of them both.
But it was a long time before that strange feeling faded.
Chapter Five
Max took one of the few remaining cupcakes that Billie had set out on a platter in the middle of the birthday feast. “Your cake-decorating skills are improving.”
Trust Max to notice. “I didn’t have time to bake them,” she admitted. Instead of taking a few hours that afternoon to shop, bake and frost the cupcakes she’d promised to bring, she’d hovered in the wings with Grayson’s mom at the library dedication. By the time she’d been able to tear herself away from the fascinating spectacle, she’d gotten caught in rush hour traffic going back across town again. So instead of baking, she’d gotten store-bought.
Billie’s mother, Peggy, had already given the cupcakes a disapproving look, but Billie knew that Selena hadn’t cared. She was just thirteen. Her parents were perpetually broke which was why Peggy had insisted on hosting the party, and Selena loved everything pink and purple and glittering. And the cupcakes fit the bill perfectly.
Max didn’t seem to care now, either. He peeled off the paper lining and swallowed an entire half in one bite. “Must be keeping you busy at your new agency,” he said around his mouthful. “That’s a good thing.”
“I work on commission. It’s only good if I close the deals,” she said dryly.
Billie’s mom brushed by her and began removing empty serving trays from the dining room table. “If you were teaching economics like your father and I planned, you wouldn’t have to worry about working on a commission.”
Long used to Peggy Pemberton’s feelings on the subject, Billie just pinned on a smile and lifted one of the heavy trays out of her mom’s hands. “Let me help.”
Peggy blew a wisp of gray hair away from her forehead. “It’s just so darned hot. We had the air-conditioning guy out last week and he tweaked things a bit, but obviously not enough.”
“You need a new unit,” Billie said. No amount of tweaking was going to keep the ancient thing alive forever. Fortunately, the birthday party had already spilled out onto the back lawn, because the small house wasn’t really designed to accommodate the thirty or so family members who’d been crammed inside it for dinner.
“Yes, well, when it dies completely, we’ll get one,” Peggy said tartly.
Billie wished she’d held her tongue. The last thing she wanted to get into was another argument with her mother about money. Since she’d started earning real commissions, she’d tried more than once to help her parents with some of their unexpected expenses. And every time, she’d earned her mother’s wrath. Peggy just wouldn’t believe that Billie’s real estate career would stay profitable. Possibly because it was one of the careers that Selena’s folks had both failed at.
She picked up another empty platter and followed her into the small kitchen. “I can wash all of this up. Go on outside with everyone else, Mom. It’s cooler.”
“There’s too much here for one person,” Peggy protested.
“Then I’ll draft Max into helping.”
Her mother’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, sure,” she said with a dry laugh. But at least it was a laugh, even though she immediately wrapped an apron around her waist and started rinsing dishes at the sink.
Billie went to the doorway in time to see her cousin shoving another cupcake into his mouth. “Come and help me clean up so Mom can go outside with the others where it’s cooler.”
He looked at her as if she’d grown a second head.
Behind her, she heard her mother laugh again.
Billie gave up. When it came to her family, some things would never change. She moved her mother away from the sink and squirted liquid soap under the hot running water. To accompany the aging air-conditioning system—or rather to not accompany it—was the lack of a dishwasher. Not that there would have been any place to put one in the minuscule kitchen. And as the last remaining kid living at home, Billie had grown up with dishwashing duties.
The first apartment she’d gotten on her own hadn’t had a separate bedroom, but she’d made darn sure it had a dishwasher.
“You ever think about living anywhere else, Mom?”
Peggy looked surprised. “You mean, like move back home to Horseback Hollow?”
The fact that—after more than forty years—her mother still considered Horseback Hollow “home” probably had Billie looking just as surprised as Peggy.
“Your father would never leave this house,” she said, before Billie could clarify. “And it’s paid for.” She narrowed her eyes, looking suspicious. “Are you that desperate for real estate clients that you’d expect us to sell your childhood home and buy something we can’t afford just as we’re about ready to retire?”
Billie winced. She wasn’t sure what was more offensive—her mother thinking she needed to drum up business, or that she would look to her own parents to do so. “I’m not desperate for clients, Mom. In fact, I have a new—” She broke off. On those rare occasions that she spoke about clients with her family, it was only in the general sense. And there was nothing “general” when it came to Grayson Fortune.
“A new what?” Max had entered the kitchen.
Ordinarily, that would be a miracle.
“Client, I assume,” Peggy answered. She plunked a stack of plates in the sink in front of Billie and tsked a little, adjusting the water temperature. “It doesn’t do any good to wash dishes in cold water.”
Long practiced, Billie bit her tongue as the hot water turned nearly scalding. Max, however, caught her gaze and grinned knowingly.
“I still don’t know where you inherited this interest in real estate,” Peggy said as she headed out of the kitchen, “when you could easily teach economics.”
Billie quickly adjusted the water temperature again, flooding the sink with enough cold water that she could stand to put her hands in it. By the time her mom returned with another load of dishes, the sink was full and the water off.
“If I hadn’t spent more than twelve hours delivering you from my very own body, I’d think you were left on the doorstep by strangers.” Peggy set the stack next to Billie.
It was definitely time to change the subject. “Max, what did you end up bringing Selena for her birthday?”
He made a face. “Only thing she begged me for was an autographed photograph from The Grayson.”
The plate in Billie’s hand slid out of her fingers back into the water, sending soapsuds cascading over the front of her.
“For goodness sake, Billie. Be a little careful! That’s my grandmother’s china.”
Billie lifted the unharmed plate to show her mother, though she was focused on her cousin. “You got an autographed photograph from Grayson For—” She bit off the rest of his name, scrambling a little. “For Selena? I thought you hated the guy.”
“Well, I damn sure didn’t pay him for the thing. Guy’s not getting any of my hard-earned money.”
Peggy looked appalled. “Max, tell me that you didn’t forge his autograph!”
“Didn’t need to, Aunt Peg. Guy’s got stacks of signed pics just lying around if you know where to look.”
Photographs like the ones that had been available that afternoon at the library event?
Peggy was giving Max the same look that she’d been giving her seventh-grade math students for as long as Billie could remember. “Tell me exactly where you got Selena’s gift.”
Max sent Billie a “help me” look, but she was too curious to be of assistance.
He appeared increasingly harried. “It was Bethany’s, all right? She left it behind when she dumped me for that cocky old bastard. She obviously doesn’t need the picture now that she’s got the real thing.”
Billie refocused on scrubbing plates. She was increasingly doubtful that Max’s feckless barrel racer “had” Grayson at all. Admittedly, she’d spent just one day with him, but the only woman he’d spoken of had been his mother. “I don’t think Grayson is old.” Or cocky.
“Don’t tell me you’re still crushin’ on him? You made me wait in line with you for two hours back in the day for that dang calendar he signed. You know he still prints ’em?” Max made a face. “Greedy son of a gun, if you ask me. All he’s about is making money and collecting other people’s girls.”
“I’m not crushin’ on anyone.” And she knew for a fact that Grayson donated all the money he earned from those calendars because the governor had talked about it that very afternoon.
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