Lyric and Lingerie (The Fort Worth Wranglers Book 1) (15 page)

The research she’d done in the middle of the night, as the doctors slowly began bringing her father around from his medically induced coma, provided strong evidence that humor helped people heal. The research also proved out that patients with positive, upbeat attitudes were more likely to get through surgery without complications.

Considering that life in the Wright house was complicated enough—especially for her daddy, who had to keep her mother happy—Lyric was totally a fan of zero surgical complications. Especially considering that it was only a couple of hours until he had his chest cut wide open and his heart stopped.

She’d take any positive vibes Heath wanted to throw her way.

Pushing back the blanket, she went to stand just as Heath nodded in her direction. “Look who’s awake.”

“Lyric, sweetheart.” Her dad reached out a trembling hand to her. She stared at it for a second, shocked again at how frail her larger-than-life father was right now.

She didn’t want him to see that, though. Didn’t want him to know how much his illness had thrown her. So she shoved all her worries and fears back down inside and pasted on the biggest grin she could manage.

“You’re awake.” She sounded like a manic cheerleader on a caffeine high.

Heath shot her a WTF look.

Maybe she should tone done the positive vibes.

“I am, sweetheart. Why don’t you come around here and give me a big ole kiss on the cheek?” For as long as she could remember, her daddy had wanted a big ole kiss on the cheek. It had worked to get her out of all sorts of trouble, from I-don’t-know-how-the-garage-door-got dinged to I’m-sorry-for-that-speeding-ticket.

“I’ll give you two,” she said, falling back on the old joke they’d had between them since she was little more than a toddler. “How does that sound?”

“Just about perfect.” Her daddy turned his head a little, giving her a scruffy, pasty cheek.

As she leaned forward, Heath stroked a hand straight down her spine, from the sensitive nape of her neck to the top curve of her ass. She jumped and then settled into it. His hand stayed put, his palm resting on her ass while his long fingers curled around her hip.

She squeaked a little before she gave her father a hug and the two kisses she’d promised. As she did, she tried to angle her body so that he couldn’t see where Heath’s hand was resting.

But her father was no fool. He might be laid up, and he might be sick, but he was far from blind. A fact she was reminded of as his eyes zeroed in on Heath’s fingers.

“How are you feeling?” She pulled back. This time she did wiggle her butt in an effort to dislodge Heath’s hand. He just tightened his grip and smiled like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Like I’m about to have my chest cut open.” Her father was always upbeat. He was the Yang to her mother’s Yin. “It could be worse.”

How could he feel worse? Maybe if he had his head cut open, but the brain doesn’t have any pain receptors—they’re all in the outer coating. She guessed cutting through that probably hurt.

“Yeah, you could be feeling like you already had your chest cut open.” Heath took her father’s hand.

Her daddy grinned. “Exactly.”

“I swear, you two are peas in a pod.” Lyric stiffened as her mother swept into the room in a familiar cloud of Chanel No. 5 and superiority. She’d changed out of her Darth Vader pantsuit and was now wearing some sort of swirly orange chiffon shirt and white trousers. She looked like a peach sno-cone. Lyric couldn’t wait for the barrage of hatefulness her mother would have for her when she caught sight of Lyric’s Walmart-special yoga pants and too-tight tank top.

The peach sno-cone was going to melt into an angry puddle.

She still wasn’t sure how Heath could get her pants size right but miss so completely on the shirt. With his nickname and extracurricular activities, she’d figured he’d recognize a pair of double Ds with his eyes closed and his libido tied behind his back.

“There you are.” Her daddy held his hand out to her mother. “I was wondering when you were going to get here, my love.”

Lyric and Harmony had never really figured out what there was to love about their mother, but clearly their father had found something … minute and really well concealed. Harmony believed their mother was a secret Wiccan who’d cast a spell over their father so he couldn’t see the real her.

Lyric sighed long and hard at the endearment, but she made her way to the other side of his bed ASAP.

“Are the nurses being nice to you?” Livinia pressed a dry kiss to the same cheek Lyric had just kissed.

Lyric was relieved that she’d gotten there first. God only knew what kind of poison her mother left on everything she touched.

“You bet they are.” Her father seemed to brighten in her mother’s presence. “They’re too infatuated with Heath and too scared of you to do anything else.”

Lyric glanced over her shoulder at the nurses’ station, half expecting to see the nurses holding up garlic and crosses now that her mother had finally arrived. Jeannie and a nurse with blonde hair and large ears sat behind their desk trying to look busy. No crosses or garlic. It was disappointing.

Heath had thought of everything from hand lotion to fuzzy socks for her feet, but he’d forgotten the garlic. She would have to ward her mother off with her wit alone. It wasn’t the best plan, considering she’d gotten all of three hours sleep in the last forty-eight hours.

“Mrs. Wright.” Candy, the nurse assigned to her father this morning, came bustling in. “You’ve had your chance to see Mr. Wright. The surgery center just called, and they’re on their way to get him. I broke the rules once, but y’all are going to have to head back out to the waiting room. They’ll come get you when he’s prepped for surgery, and you can see him one more time before they put him under.”

For a moment it looked like her mother was going to protest, but her daddy just took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I’ll be fine. The surgery’s routine.”

“I’m not worried. I just …” Her voice was crisp, but her mother’s chin trembled just a little before she shored up her defenses. “I won’t be in there to watch over you.”

She meant
to micromanage the surgery
, just like she tried to micromanage Bowman’s life. No wonder he disappeared into the barn … a lot … for no reason.

“I’m going to be just fine.” He kissed her hand again, then turned his tired eyes to the rest of them. “Harmony, sugar, take care of your mother, please.”

Even drugged, he was still smart enough to know that Lyric wasn’t the person to ask.

“Absolutely.” Her sister’s tone was so sweet that Lyric worried they’d all get cavities. “I’ll keep her in line.”

His laugh was weaker than usual, but familiar enough that it chased away the chill that had come as soon as Candy had started trying to kick them all out.

“I have no doubt, sugar. No doubt at all.” Then he turned to Lyric. “I just want you to know how proud I am of you. And how much easier it is for me to go into this surgery knowing that you’re here and that you have a man like Heath to take care of you.”

“Huh?” Lyric looked at Heath for a translation.

He grinned and shrugged.

“He’s a good man. A solid man, one who is more than up to taking care of you.” Her father’s words were slurring. It sounded like he’d had several fingers of bourbon. Clearly the anesthesia was kicking in.

“Taking … care of me?” Lyric had never needed a man, besides her daddy.

“Don’t be getting your knickers in a twist.” Now her father was British? Yep, the anesthesia was definitely kicking in. No proper Texas rancher used the word “knickers” unless he was high on IV drugs. “I know you’re an independent woman, but you need a man in your life.”

She needed a man in her life about as much as she needed another hole in her head, but who was she to argue? Drugs mixed with testosterone—a recipe for stupidity.

She glanced at Heath, who was grinning like an idiot and nodding along with everything her daddy had said.

“Heath and I are just …” Well, what were they? Friends, acquaintances, airplane seatmates?

Heath pulled her to his chest. She barely had time to register the warning look in his eyes before he was lowering his head and pressing his mouth to hers.

It wasn’t the most passionate of kisses or the most intimate. But the second his lips hit hers, her system went into overload.

Heath Montgomery could kiss. He’d been dynamite at seventeen, and the years had only made him better. Practice really did make perfect.

Her toes tingled. Her heart raced. Her stomach growled.

It had been a while since she’d eaten. She hoped he didn’t notice.

She let herself sink into the kiss—into Heath—then he pulled away. She looked up, and his eyes had gone from chocolate brown to pure black magic in the space of one short kiss.

Harmony cleared her throat.

Lyric stepped back and noticed that her entire family, along with three nurses, two orderlies, and some woman with dark hair and a pinstripe suit, were all watching her as if she were a penguin in the zoo.

She took a couple of steps back and banged into her father’s IV pole. Her foot got caught on the leg of the chair, and when she threw out a hand for stability, she almost yanked her father’s IV right out of his hand. She overcompensated with her right foot, which hit the rolling tray, sending it crashing into her father’s bed. Heath scooped her up Rhett Butler style and moved her out of the way.

“Really?” Harmony sighed. “You couldn’t just help her up, you had to whisk her into your arms like some stupid Bollywood musical?”

Lyric was willing to admit that it was overkill.

Gently, Heath set her down. “What can I say? I’m an overachiever.”

He made a big show of pulling Lyric into his chest. “I’ve got you, darlin’.” His West Texas drawl was overly pronounced. “I’ve got you.”

Her father grinned from ear to ear.

Lyric wasn’t brain-dead. This was all a show for her father. Something about her needing Heath to take care of her. That seemed to make sense to the only men in the room.

# # #

Four hours later, Daddy was in surgery while everyone else waited in the waiting room. Dr. Leamon, who had spoken to them before the procedure, said it should take between four and six hours. Only two more hours to go.

Lyric didn’t know if she was going to make it that long. Her nerves were shot. She jumped every time someone walked by. Heath held a wrinkled old back issue of
Sports Illustrated
in one hand and patted her knee with the other. It wasn’t soothing. It felt staged.

She wanted to ask him what the hell was going on, but they weren’t alone.

What the hell had been up with that kiss? He’d blindsided her, in front of her entire family. It made no sense.

In fact, the last thing she remembered making sense was Dr. Danzinger’s probing eyes on her cleavage. She shook her head. It was a sad state of affairs when an eye grope by an octogenarian was her baseline for normal.

Heath shifted and rested his arm on her chairback. He played with the ends of her hair as his fingers tangled in her curls. It was driving her crazy.

Harmony’s gaze went to Heath’s hand, and her eyes rolled so far back in her head that Lyric thought she might be having a seizure. “Anyone hungry?” Harmony stood and stretched her legs.

“I am.” Lyric shot up. “It’s my turn to hit the vending machines.”

“I’ll come with you.” Heath stood. “Help you carry everything.”

“No, I’ve got it. Don’t worry. I want a chance to stretch my legs. I might take a short walk outside.” She hightailed it out of the waiting room and didn’t look back.

She needed ten minutes where Heath wasn’t invading her personal space. Okay, so she might need more than ten minutes. She could walk to say, San Antonio and back. That should take her about two weeks. Maybe by then her life would make sense.

Worried, frustrated, and more confused than she could remember being in a long, long time, Lyric wandered the halls, killing time before she had to go back to the Waiting Room of Doom.

The hospital wasn’t exactly big, and she could only pace up and down the same hall so many times before security took notice. She headed for the nearest vending machines and bought sodas for Harmony, Heath, and herself, water for her mother, and the most fattening snacks she could find. Her mother was going to keel over. Too bad they were in a hospital where they revived keeled-over people.

She walked into the waiting room and stopped short.

They’d played musical chairs while she was gone.

Heath sat between her mom and sister on the biggest couch in the waiting room, smiling like he was about to be on a magazine cover—or in a straitjacket—as he tried to convince Livinia Wright that he was desperately in love with her youngest daughter.

“How exactly did you and Lyric reconnect anyway?” Harmony asked. “I talked to her last week, and she didn’t mention anything about it.”

“Well, now, we’ve been trying to keep it kind of on the down low on account of my fame. Lyric’s been in the middle of a really big project at work, and the last thing she needed was a horde of crazed sports reporters trying to get a picture or a quote from the woman who stole the Deuce’s heart.”

“A horde?” Harmony asked with a skeptical lift of a brow.

“A very large horde,” Heath told her firmly. “In some circles, I’m a pretty big deal, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Harmony muttered with a roll of her eyes. “And if I didn’t, you would certainly remind me.”

Lyric bit her lip to keep from laughing, especially when Heath just ignored her sister in favor of rubbing his hands together like he was getting ready to tell the most exciting story of his life. Years of experience with him had taught her that it would have little to do with the truth and absolutely nothing to do with them sitting next to each other on a plane bound for the mainland.

God help them all.

“Well, the way Lyric and I reconnected … I have to tell you. It’s sweet, really.” Heath cleared his throat and glanced around the room at the other people in the waiting room, no doubt making sure that everyone in his captive audience was listening to him. “You have one amazing daughter.” He sent her mother a dazzling smile.