Texas! Chase #2 (17 page)

He had pushed the door open and walked in, but stumbled on his own two feet when he found himself face-to-face with her pretty, pink nakedness.

He had caught her arranging her hair. Her hands were raised above her head. She stood poised in front of her vanity table, the mirror over it offering him a view of her back so he could see her all over at once.

Her blue eyes challenged him to do something, say something. He wanted to pounce on her and feed on her beautiful flesh, but he wouldn't allow himself to. If she could act so blase about her nudity, then, by all that was holy, so could he.

Pulse thundering, resolutely keeping his eyes on a spot just above her head, he asked, "Do you have a sewing kit?"

"I'll be glad to mend whatever needs it."

"It's just a button. I can do it. Have you got a needle and thread or not?"

"Sure. Right here."

She lowered her arms. Her hair drifted to her smooth, fair shoulders. The small chest where she kept her sewing kit was behind him. She could have gone around him. She could have excused herself and moved him

aside. Instead, she practically walked through him, brushing herself against him. Every cell in his body had become a tongue of flame, licking him into a frenzy of sexual heat.

Just thinking about it now made him yearn to touch her impertinent breasts and stroke her translucent skin and explore the mystery at her beautifully decorated apex.

Lucky waved his hand in front of Chase's face. He drew himself back into the present and querulously growled, "I think she was an old maid for too long. It made her an exhibitionist.

What does it sound like to you?"

"Sounds like a fantasy I read in Playboy once."

"Dammit, Lucky, I'm serious. She's like a nympho or something."

"Damned shame to be married to one, isn't it? I speak from experience you understand."

He winked.

Both Lucky's sarcasm and his gesture escaped

Chase, who was still deep in thought.

"She brushes up against me all the time. Remember the cat we had that rubbed herself against our legs when a torn wasn't around?

Marcie's like that. She can't walk past me without bumping into me. It's like she's in heat."

"Maybe she is."

Lucky's flippant comment goosed Chase out of his erotic trance. "What?"

Lucky vigorously chewed another handful of beer nuts and swallowed. "I said maybe she is. Devon believes that a woman gets preg

nant when she wants to, when she has subconsciously made up her mind to."

"Pregnant?" Chase repeated, looking stunned.

Then he shook his head adamantly. "She's not going to get pregnant. At least she had better not. I don't want anything to do with a baby. I don't even want to talk about one, think about one."

Lucky's grin gradually receded. Uneasily he glanced beyond his brother's shoulder. Instantly his vision cleared. "Speaking of your lady, she's here."

"Huh?"

Chase followed the direction of Lucky's gaze until he sighted Marcie. She was standing just inside the door of the noisy, smoky tavern, surveying the rowdy Friday-night crowd.

When her gaze connected with his, he saw relief break across her features.

As unobtrusively as possible, she wended her way through the largely male crowd until she reached the end of the bar where they were seated. "So you are here." She smiled at Chase breathlessly. "I thought I recognized your truck outside." To his brother she said,

"Hi, Lucky."

"Hi. I don't suppose Devon is with you. The

Place isn't one of her favorite nightspots."

Marcie laughed. "So I've heard. And with good reason. But don't worry. I understand some of the most lasting love affairs have inauspicious origins."

"At least in our case that's true. It started with a fist fight in this hellhole. Look where it got us. Into a marriage made in heaven." He grinned broadly. "Want a drink?"

"No, thank you."

"What are you doing here?"

Chase's abrupt question cut through their lighthearted exchange like a steel rapier. It sounded accusatory and instantly put Marcie on the defensive.

"Remember the couple from Massachusetts?

They're in town today. I was showing them a lake house and had to come by here on my way back to town. As I said, I spotted your pickup outside."

"You were checking up on me," Chase said.

"Can't I be a few minutes late coming home without you hunting me down?"

"Hey, Chase, relax."

He ignored his brother. "Or don't you trust me to stop with just one drink? Did you think I had run off and joined the rodeo circuit again?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Lucky asked through his teeth, intentionally keeping his voice low so that they wouldn't attract attention.

"He's trying to humiliate me," Marcie said candidly. "When all he's actually doing is making himself look foolish."

With that, she turned her back on them.

Proudly, shoulders back, fiery head held high, she moved toward the door.

Before Lucky could speak the admonishment he had ready. Chase turned to him and warned, "Shut up.

I don't need any advice from you." Digging in his jeans pocket for currency, he tossed down enough bills to cover the cost of their drinks and adequately tip the bartender.

He elbowed milling patrons aside as he followed

Marcie's light-capturing hair toward the door. One grinning, boozy face blocked his path and stood his ground firmly even when Chase tried to set him aside.

"Better catch that one, Tyler. She's one classy piece."

"So then Chase snarls something to the effect of, 'That's my wife, you's.o.b.'. Sorry, Deacon.

Then his fist smashes into this guy's face and knocks his nose askew. Another punch landed square on his mouth. His partial plate flew right out. I could see it from where I was standing at the bar. Swear to God—pardon me, Deacon—it did. The teeth got crushed in the stampede. Everybody was trying their damnedest—sorry again, Deacon—to get out of Chase's way. He was like a madman."

After Lucky had finished his account of the fight that had occurred at The Place two nights earlier, everyone in the formal dining room of the Tyler's ranch house was held in speechless suspension for several seconds.

Marcie kept her eyes lowered to her plate, still mortified that she had unwittingly caused a brawl. She now shared Devon's aversion to

The Place.

Apparently Chase was just as uncomfortable with the recounting of the one-sided fight.

He had remained broodily silent, drawing lit

tie valleys through his uneaten mound of mashed potatoes with the tines of his fork.

Laurie, Marcie noticed, was nervously fiddling with the strand of pearls around her neck, possibly because Lucky hadn't censored his language in deference to their additional guest at the midday Sunday meal.

"I wish you boys would stay out of that tavern," Laurie said, finally breaking the awkward silence. "The only good thing that's ever happened there was when Lucky met Devon."

"Thank you, Laurie," Marcie's sister-in-law replied. "Would you like for me to clear the dishes for dessert?"

"That's sweet of you. Is everybody finished?

Jess?"

Jess Sawyer blotted his mouth with the same meticulous precision as he had sweetened his tea, cut his meat, and buttered his roll one bite at a time. He was a small, neat man dressed in a stiff white shirt and a well-pressed brown suit. He had thin brown hair and dull brown eyes. If personalities had colors, his would be brown.

"Everything was delicious, Laurie," he said politely. "Thank you for inviting me."

With Lucky's help, Devon stood and began stacking empty dishes on a tray. When the table was cleared, Devon held the door for

Lucky as he carried the tray into the kitchen.

"We'll bring dessert and coffee in," she said, following her husband out.

"I'm glad I caught you as we left the sanctuary."

Laurie was saying to Mr. Sawyer. "I

hate to think of anyone's eating a meal alone, but I think eating Sunday dinner alone is a sacrilege. Feel welcome to come anytime." she said, smiling at him. "Pat, was the roast beef too well-done for you?"

Pat Bush, a perennial guest at Sunday dinner, shifted in his chair. "It was fine." Glancing across the table toward Mr. Sawyer, he added, "Just like always."

"You didn't eat but one helping."

"My lack of appetite has nothing to do with the food, Laurie. I'm still thinking about that ruckus out at The Place last Friday night." He cast a baleful glance toward Chase.

Devon and Lucky returned, bringing with them a three-layer chocolate cake and coffee with all the fixings. "I'll serve from the sideboard, if that's all right with you, Laurie."

"That will be fine, dear," Laurie told her daughter-in-law.

From her chair Marcie watched Devon slice the first piece of cake and put it on a plate.

Some of the frosting stuck to her fingers. She raised her hand to her mouth to lick it off.

Before she could, Lucky grabbed her hand, poked her finger into his mouth, and sucked it clean.

Marcie's stomach did a flip-flop.

She felt Chase go tense beside her.

Devon snatched her hand away from her playful husband and glanced quickly over her shoulder to see if their loveplay had been noticed. Marcie pretended she hadn't seen it.

She didn't want to embarrass Devon or, more to the point, have Devon see her jealousy.

"Y'all seem to bust The Place up every time you go in it," the sheriff said to Chase.

"What was I supposed to do, Pat," Chase asked defensively, grumpily, "just stand there and let that guy insult my wife?"

"To my way of thinking, Chase had no choice but to deck the jerk," Lucky commented as he passed around dessert plates.

"Well, your opinion on fighting doesn't count for much, does it?" Pat asked crossly. "You fight at the drop of a hat."

"Used to fight at the drop of a hat. Now I'm a lover, not a fighter." He kissed Devon's cheek as she went past him.

Chase's knee reflexively bumped into Marcie's under the table.

"I'm certain that Chase did what he felt like he had to do," Laurie said in her son's defense. "He paid for all the damage done to the bar and took care of that man's medical bills. I just hate to think of his teeth being knocked out. Literally."

Lucky emitted a snicker. Before long, everyone around the table was laughing. All except Jess Sawyer, who was gaping at them with dismay.

"He may end up thanking me," Chase said when the laughter had abated. "Those were the god-awfulest-looking false teeth I've ever—"

"Devon!"

The alarm in Lucky's voice silenced Chase.

Lucky shot from his chair and launched him

self toward his wife, who was leaning over the sideboard. Her face was pale. She was taking quick, panting breaths. One of Lucky's arms went around her waist to help support her. The other hand cupped her cheek and lifted her bowed head.

"Devon? Honey?"

"I'm fine," she assured him with a feeble smile. "A little dizzy spell. I think I just got too warm. Maybe if we turn down the heat a little, hmm? Or maybe something I ate didn't set well with me."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Laurie laid her folded napkin beside her plate, left her chair, and joined the couple at the sideboard. "Why don't y'all stop this foolishness and announce to everybody else what I've known for months?"

Taking the initiative, she turned toward the table. "Devon's going to have a baby."

"Oh!" Marcie never remembered giving that glad cry. She, along with everyone else, even Mr. Sawyer, converged on the beaming couple, who were alternately embracing each other and their well-wishers.

Marcie gave Devon an extended hug. Since her marriage to Chase, the two women had become good friends. Marcie admired Devon's intelligence and acerbic wit, which she put to good use in the columns she wrote for one of the Dallas newspapers. Recently she had told them she'd been approached by a syndicator.

"I'm so glad for you," Marcie said earnestly.

"Are you feeling all right? Is there anything I

can do?"

Devon clutched her hand. "Do you know anything about babies?"

"No!" Marcie laughed.

"Then a big help you'll be."

The two women smiled at each other with mutual admiration and growing affection.

Then Marcie kissed the proud papa's cheek.

"Congratulations, Lucky."

"Thanks. One of the little critters finally fought his way upstream."

"James Lawrence!" Laurie cried, aghast.

"Remember that we have a guest. I won't stand for that naughty kind of talk: I don't want Jess thinking that I've reared a bunch of—"

The shrill, obnoxious scraping sound of chair legs against the hardwood floor brought them all around.

Chase dropped his napkin beside his plate and stamped out.

Before he went through the archway, Marcie got a good look at his face. It looked like a man's shattered reflection in a broken mirror.

The ax arced through the air, making a whistling sound before it connected with the log. Thwack! The log, standing on its end/split down the middle. Chase bent at the waist and tossed the two pieces aside, then picked up another log and set it upright on the block.

"What are you doing?"

Thwack!

"Knitting a sweater. What does it look like?"

"That can't be good for your ribs."

"My ribs are fine."

Thwack!

Lucky put his back to the nearby fence. He leaned against it while hooking the heel of his boot on the lowest rail. He set both elbows on the top one.

"You know. Chase, you can be the most self-centered's.o.b. I've ever run across."

Thwack!

Chase glared at his brother before tossing aside the split log and getting another. "What did you expect me to do, pass out cigars?"

"That would have been a start."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

Thwack!

Lucky reached in and wrested the ax handle from his older brother while he was bent down. Chase sprung erect, his face fierce.

"I'm not disappointed," Lucky said, throwing the ax to the ground. "I'm mad. Our mother is disappointed. She was counting on your marriage to turn you around."