Heaven, Texas (16 page)

A heavy lock, nearly three inches long, fell into her lap, and her anxiety escalated. “Shirley, I—”

“Janine's gonna do your makeup.” Shirley nodded her head toward the other operator. “She just started to sell Mary Kay this week, and she's looking for customers.

Bobby Tom said he wanted to buy you a fresh supply of cosmetics to replace all the stuff you lost in that South American earthquake when you were guarding the vice president.”

Gracie nearly choked, and then fought against laughter. He was maddening, but entertaining.

Shirley switched on the hair dryer and spun the chair to the mirror. Gracie gave a gasp of dismay. She looked like a wet rat.

“I'll teach you how to do this yourself. It's all in the fingers.” Shirley began pulling at her hair, and Gracie envisioned clumps of frizz standing straight out from her head. Maybe she could hold it down with one of those big hair-bands, she thought, with a trace of desperation. Or maybe she should just buy a wig.

Then, so gradually she could barely believe it, something wonderful began to happen.

“There.” Shirley finally stepped back, her fingers having worked their magic.

Gracie stared at her reflection. “Oh, my goodness.”

“Cute, huh.” Shirley grinned into the mirror.

Cute was hardly the word for it. Gracie's hair was thoroughly modern. Reckless. Uninhibited. Sexy. It was everything that Gracie wasn't, and her hand trembled as she touched it.

The cut was much shorter than she was accustomed to, barely jaw length and side parted with a wisp of bangs. Far from being frizzy, it fell in soft, pretty waves and curly tendrils that feathered her cheeks and earlobes. Her small features and fine gray eyes were no longer overpowered by the heavy weight of her old hair, and Gracie was entranced with her reflection. Was this really her?

She hadn't even begun to look her fill before Shirley passed her over to Janine to get Mary Kayed. For the next hour, Gracie learned about skin care and a makeup application that would enhance her naturally smooth complexion. With liner, amber shadows, and dark mascara, Janine made her eyes the focal point of her face. When she was satisfied, she had Gracie do it herself. Gracie finished by dusting her cheekbones with blush, then applying the soft coral lipstick Janine handed her. She gazed into the mirror with wonder, hardly able to believe the woman staring back was herself.

The makeup was subtle and flattering. With her sweet, reckless haircut, luminous gray eyes, and spiky lashes, she looked prettier than she'd ever imagined: feminine, desirable, and, yes, a little bit wild. Her heart began to pound. She looked so different now. Was it possible that Bobby Tom might find her attractive? Maybe he would start looking at her in a new way. Maybe he would—

She reined in her runaway thoughts. This was exactly what she'd promised herself she wouldn't do. All the make-overs in the world wouldn't transform her into one of those spectacular beauties Bobby Tom kept company with, and she mustn't allow herself to build dream castles.

When Grade took out her wallet, Shirley looked at her as if she'd lost her mind and told her Bobby Tom had taken care of it. Something unpleasant uncoiled in Gracie's stomach. She thought of the long list of people Bobby Tom gave money to and realized he had added her to his charity list.

She should have anticipated this. He didn't see her as a competent, independent woman at all, but as one more lost cause. The realization hurt. She wanted him to regard her as his equal, and that would never happen if he was picking up all the bills.

It had been easy to promise herself she wouldn't take anything from him, but now she realized that the reality wouldn't be simple at all. He had expensive tastes and he would expect her to look as if she belonged with him, but how was she to do that on her limited income? She thought of the small financial nest egg in her savings account that was her only security. Was she prepared to jeopardize it for the sake of her principles?

She didn't have to think about it for more than a few seconds to know this was too important for her to back away, and her jaw set in a stubborn line. For the sake of her soul and everything she believed in, she needed to give herself to him with a free and loving heart. That meant she could take nothing from him. She would leave him before she became another parasite in his life.

Politely, but firmly, she wrote a check to cover the hefty bill and asked Shirley to return Bobby Tom's money. The gesture exhilarated her. She would be one person in his life who wasn't bought and paid for.

Suzy arrived moments later. She admired Gracie from every angle and was effusive with her compliments. Only after they'd left the beauty shop and were settled in the Lexus to go clothes shopping did Gracie notice that she seemed a bit distracted, but perhaps she'd had a restless night.

Gracie hadn't slept all that well herself, despite her comfortable bed in the small apartment above Bobby Tom's garage. The bleached wood and contemporary royal blue and white color scheme of the rooms made it obvious they hadn't been decorated by the same person who'd done the house. Although the quarters were compact, they had turned out to be far more luxurious than she'd imagined. Or that she could afford, she realized with dismay, as she added a mental figure for rent that would compound her financial difficulties.

The apartment featured a combination living room/kitchenette and separate bedroom, which ran parallel to Bobby Tom's weight room. Her bedroom faced the rear of his house, and when she'd been unable to sleep last night, she'd gotten up, only to discover she wasn't the only insomniac. Below her, she'd seen the flickering silver light of the television coming from the window of his office.

The bright sunlight fell on Suzy's drawn features, making Gracie feel guilty for imposing on her. “We don't have to do this today.”

“I'm looking forward to it.”

Her response seemed genuine, so Gracie didn't protest further. At the same time, she realized she needed to be honest with Suzy. “I'm embarrassed about this phony engagement. I tried to convince him that the whole idea is ridiculous.”

“Not from his viewpoint. People here are always after him for one thing or another. If this gives him a little peace while he's in town, I'm all for it.” She dismissed the subject as she turned toward Main Street. “We're lucky to have a wonderful boutique in town. Millie will take good care of you.”

The word “boutique” rang alarm bells in Gracie's head. “Is it expensive?”

“That doesn't matter. Bobby Tom's taking care of everything.”

“He's not buying my clothes,” she said quietly. “I won't permit it. I'll be buying them myself, and I'm afraid I'm on a limited budget.”

“Of course he's paying. This was his idea.” Gracie shook her head stubbornly.

“You're serious, aren't you?”

“Very serious.”

Suzy seemed bemused. “Bobby Tom always pays.”

“Not for me.”

For a moment Suzy didn't say anything. Then she smiled and made a U-turn. “I love challenges. There's an outlet mall about thirty miles from here. This is going to be fun.”

For the next three hours, Suzy performed like a drill sergeant, leading her from one discount store to another, where she searched out bargains like a bloodhound. She paid no attention to Gracie's own preferences and, instead, dressed her in the sort of youthful, provocative clothes Gracie would never have dared choose for herself. Suzy selected a gauzy skirt and silky jewel-toned blouse, a watermelon pink tank dress that fell open from mid-thigh to calf, stonewashed jeans with stretchy ribbed knit tops, scandalously short skirts, cotton sweaters that clung to her breasts. Gracie tried on belts and necklaces, sandals and flats, Keds with rhinestones and free-form silver earrings. By the time the last of the garments was packed away in the trunk of the Lexus Gracie had wiped out a huge chunk of her savings. She felt dazed and more than a little nervous.

“Are you sure?” She glanced down at the hot red romper that had been their final purchase. Its off-the-shoulder bodice clung so tightly to her skin that she couldn't wear a bra, and the knit fabric sparkled with gold-tone studs. A two-inch gold metallic belt separated the clingy bodice from the looser-fitting shorts, and her sensible espadrilles had been replaced by a pair of strappy little lipstick red sandals. The outfit made her feel as if she were pretending to be someone she wasn't.

For what seemed to be the hundredth time that afternoon, Suzy reassured her. “It's darling on you.”

Gracie fought to control her panic. Homely women didn't wear “darling” clothes. She seized on what she saw as a valid excuse to explain her continued hesitation.

“These sandals don't supply very much arch support.”

“Do you have trouble with your arches?”

“No. But maybe that's because I've always worn sensible shoes.”

Suzy smiled and patted her arm. “Don't worry, Gracie. You look wonderful.”

“I don't look like myself.”

“I think you look exactly like yourself. And I say it's about time.”

Who the hell was driving his T-bird? And driving it too damned fast! Bobby Tom spotted the rooster tail of dust from half a mile away and grabbed his script from the top of the corral post where he'd propped it to study the scene they were shooting that afternoon.

The T-bird turned off the road, still kicking up dust, and pulled to a squealing stop next to his trailer. As he squinted against the glare of the setting sun, he saw a hot little number dressed in red step out of the car, and his blood pressure soared. Dammit! Gracie was the only person who had permission to drive his T-bird. He'd asked her to pick it up from Buddy's Garage after she'd finished with her shopping, but she'd obviously decided to teach him another one of her lessons by cajoling some predatory female into doing the job.

He set his jaw and stalked forward, still squinting from the sun as he tried to make out who it was, but he couldn't see much more than a nice little body, short sexy hair, and a face partially hidden by small round sunglasses. He swore to himself that he was going to have Gracie's hide for this. She knew better than anyone that their phony engagement was supposed to protect him from just this sort of thing.

And then he froze in his tracks as the sun picked out familiar coppery lights in that flyaway hair. His gaze slithered down over the nicely proportioned body and slender legs to a neat pair of ankles he would have recognized anywhere, and he felt as if he'd been poleaxed. At the same time, he called himself ten kinds of a fool. He was the one who had arranged for Gracie's make-over. Why hadn't he been better prepared for the results?

Gracie watched apprehensively as he approached. She knew enough about the way Bobby Tom behaved with women by now to predict exactly what he was going to say. He would flatter her outrageously, probably tell her she was the prettiest woman he'd ever seen in his life, and under his barrage of preposterous compliments, she'd have no idea what he really thought about the changes in her appearance. If only he'd be honest with her so she could know whether or not she looked ridiculous.

He stopped in front of her. Several seconds ticked by as she waited for that lady-killer grin to take over his face and the blarney to start flowing. He rubbed his chin with the back of his knuckles.

“Looks like Buddy did a good job. Did he give you a receipt?”

Stunned, she watched him walk right past her, glance at the headlight Buddy had replaced, and crouch to examine the new tires. Her pleasure in the moment faded, and she felt deflated. “It's in the glove compartment.”

He stood back up and glared at her. “Why the hell were you driving so fast?”

Because the pretty lady with the reckless hair and frivolous little sandals without any arch support is a free spirit who doesn't worry about mundane things like speed limits.

“I guess I had other things on my mind.” When was he going to tell her she was the prettiest little thing he'd ever seen in his life, just like he told every other female?

His mouth tightened in annoyance. “I've been planning on letting you use the T-bird to get around while we're here, but-I'm seriously thinking about changing my mind after what I just saw. You were driving this car like it's some old junker.”

“I apologize.” She gritted her teeth as anger overcame her hurt. She had spent a fortune today, and he didn't seem to notice.

“I'd appreciate it very much if you didn't let it happen again.”

She straightened her shoulders and stuck her chin up in the air, determined not to let him bully her. She knew she looked pretty, maybe for the first time in her life, and if he didn't think so, that was just too bad. “It won't happen again. Now if you're finished yelling at me, I told Natalie I'd watch Elvis for her this afternoon.”

“You're supposed to be my assistant, not a baby-sitter!”

“One and the same.” She stalked away.

T
he dark maroon Lincoln stopped before the entrance of the spacious whitewashed brick country house Wayland Sawyer had built overlooking the river. As the chauffeur came around to open her door, Suzy decided that Sawyer couldn't have found a better way to let the people of Telarosa know that he'd made a success of himself than by building this magnificent estate. According to local gossip, he planned to continue using it as a weekend retreat even after he'd closed Rosatech.

As the chauffeur opened the door and helped her out, her palms were damp. Ever since her meeting with Sawyer two days ago, she'd been able to think of little else. She'd chosen to wear loosely fitted cream-colored evening trousers instead of a dress. The matching tank top and hip-length silky jacket were printed with wearable art, a fanciful Chagall village scene in jewellike tones of coral, turquoise, fuchsia, and aquamarine. Her only jewelry was her wedding band and the large diamond studs Bobby Tom had given her when he'd signed his first contract with the Stars.

A Hispanic woman Suzy didn't recognize admitted her and escorted her across the black marble floor into a spacious living room with Palladian windows that' soared two stories and looked out on a softly illuminated rose garden. Silk-shaded lamps cast warm shadows on glazed ivory walls. The sofas and chairs sitting in pleasant groups were upholstered in cool shades of blue and green touched here and there with black. Matching shell-shaped wall nooks on each side of the marble fireplace held unglazed terra-cotta urns massed with dried hydrangeas.

Way Sawyer stood next to a shiny ebony baby grand piano positioned in front of the largest window. Her uneasiness increased as she saw that he was dressed entirely in black, like a modern day gunslinger. But instead of chaps and vest, his unstructured designer suit was Italian and his shirt silk. The room's soft lights did nothing to temper the harsh lines in his face.

He held a cut glass tumbler in his hand and gazed at her with dispassionate dark eyes that seemed to miss nothing. “What would you like to drink?”

“White wine would be fine.”

He walked over to a small chest that held a mirrored tray filled with an assortment of bottles and glasses. While he poured her wine, she tried to calm herself by wandering around the room and studying the art hanging on the walls. There were several large oils and a number of watercolors. She paused in front of a small pen-and-ink drawing of a mother and child.

“I bought that at auction in London a few years ago.”

She hadn't heard him come up behind her. He extended a gold-rimmed wineglass, and, as she took a sip, he began telling her a bit of the history of each painting. His words were slow and measured, giving her information but not putting her at ease. She had difficulty reconciling this man who spoke calmly of a London art auction with the sullen-faced hoodlum who had smoked cigarettes by the gym and gone out with the fastest girls.

In the past few weeks, she'd done some research to fill in the holes about Sawyer's past. According to the story that she'd been able to piece together from some of the older residents, his mother, Trudy, at the age of sixteen, had claimed to have been gang-raped by three highway workers, one of whom was Way's father. This had happened several years before the end of World War II, and no one had believed her story, so she had become an outcast.

In the years that followed, Trudy had barely scraped together a living for herself and her son by cleaning the houses of the few families who would let her in the door, and apparently the hard work and social ostracism had gradually broken her down. Around the time Way had started high school, she seemed to have given up and accepted everyone's judgment of her. That was when she began selling herself to the men who passed through town. At the age of thirty-five, she had died of pneumonia, and Way had joined the marines not long after.

As Suzy studied him over the rim of her wineglass, her uneasiness grew. Trudy Sawyer had been the victim of grave injustice, and a man like Way Sawyer wouldn't have forgotten it. To what lengths would he go in order to even up the balance sheet?

To her relief, the maid appeared to announce dinner, and Way escorted her into a formal dining room decorated in pale green accented with jade. He made polite, meaningless conversation during the salad course, and by the time the main course of salmon and wild rice arrived, her nerves felt raw from the strain. Why didn't he tell her what he wanted from her? If she knew why he'd insisted she dine here with him tonight, maybe she could relax.

The silence that fell between them didn't seem to bother him, but it became unbearable to her, so she broke it. “I noticed your piano. Do you play?”

“No. The piano was my daughter Sarah's. I bought it for her when she was ten and Dee and I divorced. It was her consolation prize for losing her mother.”

It was the first personal remark he'd made. “You had custody of her? That was unusual for the time, wasn't it?”

“Dee had trouble being a mother. She agreed to the arrangement.”

“Do you see your daughter often?”

He broke a poppy seed roll in half, and for the first time that evening, his features softened. “Not nearly often enough. She's a commercial photographer in San Francisco, so we get together every few months. She lives in this fleabag apartment—that's why I still have the piano—but she's self-sufficient and happy.”

“These days, I guess that's the most a parent can ask.” As she thought of her son, she toyed with a piece of salmon on her plate. He was certainly self-sufficient, but she didn't believe he was all that happy.

“Would you like more wine?” he said brusquely.

“No, thank you. If I have more than one drink, I get a headache. Hoyt used to say I was the cheapest date in town.”

He didn't even smile at her weak attempt to lighten the atmosphere. Instead, he abandoned all pretense of eating, settled back in his chair, and gazed at her with an intensity that made her conscious of how seldom people truly looked at each other. She was startled to realize that if she'd been meeting him for the first time, she would have found him attractive. Although he was the polar opposite of her sunny-natured husband, his rugged good looks and powerful presence had an appeal that was difficult to ignore.

“You still miss Hoyt?”

“Very much.”

“The two of us were the same age, and we went through school together. He was Telarosa High's golden boy, just like your son.” His smile didn't make it to his eyes. “He even dated the prettiest girl in the sophomore class.”

“Thank you for the compliment, but I wasn't even close to being the prettiest girl. I still had braces on my teeth that year.”

“I thought you were the prettiest girl.” He took a sip of wine. “I'd just worked up the nerve to ask you out when I heard you and Hoyt were dating.”

She couldn't have been more startled. “I had no idea.”

“It's hard to believe I really thought I had a chance with Suzy Westlight. After all, I was Trudy Sawyer's son, and I lived in a different world from Dr. Westlight's daughter. You came from the right side of the railroad tracks and had pretty clothes. Your mother drove you around in a shiny red Oldsmobile, and you always smelled clean and new.” His words were poetic, but he spoke them in hard, clipped tones that robbed them of any sentiment.

“That was a long time ago,” she said. “I'm not new anymore.” She brushed her fingers over the silky fabric of her evening trousers and felt the small bump on her hip from her estrogen patch. It was another sign that life had lost its promise.

“Aren't you going to laugh at the idea of a dead-end kid like me wanting to ask you out?”

“You always acted as if you hated me.”

“I didn't hate you. I hated the fact that you were so far out of my reach. You and Hoyt came from a different world, one I couldn't come close to touching. The golden boy and the golden girl, happily-ever-after.”

“Not anymore.” She ducked her head as she felt her throat close.

“I'm sorry,” he said brusquely. “I didn't mean to be cruel.”

Her head shot back up, and her eyes were glazed with tears. “Then why are you doing this? I know you're playing some kind of-game with me, but I don't know what the rules are. What do you want from me?”

“I thought you were the one who wanted something from me.”

His flat response told her that he was unmoved by her obvious distress. She blinked her eyes, determined not to let tears fall, but she hadn't been sleeping well since her first meeting with him, and it was difficult to hold on to her composure. “I don't want you to destroy this town. Too many lives will be ruined.”

“And exactly what are you willing to sacrifice to keep that from happening?”

Fingers of dread trailed down her spine. “I don't have anything to sacrifice.”

“Yes, you do.”

The hard note in his voice undid her. Crumpling her napkin on the table, she stood. “I'd like to go home now.”

“You're afraid of me, aren't you?”

“I don't see any reason to prolong this evening.”

He got to his feet. “I want to show you my rose garden.”

“I think it would be better if I left.”

He pushed his chair back and came toward her. “I'd like you to see it. Please. I think you'll enjoy it.”

Although he didn't raise his voice, the note of command was unmistakable. Once again he was going to have his own way, and she didn't know how to fight the firm hand that enclosed her upper arm and led her toward the French doors at the end of the dining room. He pushed down on a wave-shaped brass handle. As she stepped outside, the night settled around her like a fragrant steam bath. She smelled the lush perfume of roses.

“It's lovely.”

He led her along a cobbled path that wound through the flower beds. “I brought in a landscape architect from Dallas to design it, but he wanted everything too fussy. I ended up doing most of the work myself.”

She didn't want to think about him planting a rose garden. In her experience, gardeners were benevolent people, and she could never view him that way.

They had reached a small koi pond set in a ramble of tall grasses and foliage. It was fed by a waterfall trickling over terraced stone, and recessed lighting illuminated the fat fish as they swam beneath the waxy leaves of the water lilies. She knew he wouldn't let her leave until he'd had his say, and she sat down on one of a pair of verdigris iron benches decorated with twining grape leaves that provided a resting place beside the pathway.

She crossed her hands in her lap and tried to brace herself. “What did you mean when you asked me what I was willing to sacrifice?”

He took the bench across from her and stretched out his legs. The lights in the pond threw his cheekbones and the bony ridge above his eyes into sharp relief, adding a menacing aspect to his features that further unnerved her. His voice, however, was as soft as the night. “I wanted to know how committed you were to keeping Rosatech here.”

“I've lived in this town all my life, and I'd do anything to keep it from dying. But I'm only the president of the Board of Education; I don't have any real power in the county.”

“Your power in the county doesn't interest me. That's not what I want from you at all.”

“Then what?”

“Maybe I want what I couldn't have all those years ago when I wasn't anything more than Trudy Sawyer's bastard kid.”

She was aware of the trickle of the waterfall, the distant hum of the air-conditioning units that cooled the house, and those peaceful noises made his quiet words seem all the more ominous. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Maybe I want the prettiest girl in the sophomore class.”

Dread crept through her, and the night that wrapped-around them was suddenly full of peril. “What are you talking about?”

He propped his elbow on the back of the bench and crossed his ankles. Despite his relaxed posture, she sensed a tightly coiled watchfulness about him, and it frightened her. “I've decided I need a companion, but I'm too busy running Rosatech to spend the time looking for someone. I want that person to be you.”

Her mouth was so dry that her tongue felt swollen. “A companion?”

“I need someone to attend social functions with, someone to accompany me on trips and serve as my hostess when I entertain.”

“I thought you had a companion. I've heard you're seeing someone in Dallas.”

“I've seen a lot of women over the years. I'm looking for something a little different. A little closer to home.” He spoke as calmly as if he were discussing a business agreement, but there was something about him, a heightened sense of alertness, that made her certain he wasn't as calm as he pretended to be. “The two of us would still be able to live our own lives, but you'd be  .  .  .” He paused and she felt as if his eyes were burning straight through hers into her skull. “You would be available to me, Suzy.”

The way he lingered over the word chilled her. “Available? Way, you're not— It almost sounds as if—” She couldn't hide her horror. “I'm not sleeping with you!”

For a moment he said nothing. “You'd hate that, wouldn't you?”

She sprang to her feet. “You're crazy! I can't believe you're suggesting this. You're not talking about a companion; you're talking about a mistress!”

He lifted one eyebrow, and she thought she had never seen a man so cold, so completely lacking in feeling. “Am I? I don't remember using that word.”

“Stop toying with me!”

“I know you have an active life, and I don't expect you to give it up, but sometimes when I need you with me, I'd like you to make concessions.”

Her blood pounded in her ears, and her voice seemed to be coming from very far away. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Doing what?”

“Blackmailing me! That's what this is about, isn't it? If I sleep with you, you'll keep Rosatech in Telarosa? If I don't, you'll move the company.” He said nothing, and she couldn't quite suppress the bubble of hysteria rising inside her. “I'm fifty-two years old! If you're looking for a mistress, why don't you do what other men your age do and find someone young.”

“Young women don't interest me.”

She turned her back to him, her nails digging into her palms. “Do you hate me so much?”

“I don't hate you at all.”

“I know what you're doing. You're living out some kind of vendetta from thirty years ago.”

“My vendetta is with the town, not with you.”

“But I'm the one who's being punished.”

“If that's the way you see it, I won't try to change your mind.”

“I'm not going to do this.”

“I understand.”

She spun back. “You can't force me.”