Texas! Lucky (26 page)

Before she could speak another word, he left her, choosing to take the gravel path around the house rather than going through its sepulchral hallway to reach the front.

At the corner of the house he turned and looked back.

"Save yourself while you can, Susan. Don't even give yourself time to think about it. Call Pat."

"Yes, yes. I'll do that today. Right now."

"I can't tell you how much better that'll make me feel." He blew her a kiss. "Goodbye."

Hanging his head, he walked with the measured gait of a self-sacrificing patriot on his way to the guillotine. But he was laughing up his sleeve and felt like kicking up his heels.

Chapter 16

D
evon was waiting for him the following morning when he arrived at Tyler Drilling headquarters. Sitting in a straight chair as prim and proper as a finishing-school student, she was talking to Chase and cradling one of their chipped, stained coffee mugs between her hands.

They shared a long stare across a shaft of sunlight in which dust motes danced as crazily as Lucky's pulse was racing at the sight of her.

Chase was the first to break the thick silence. "Devon showed up a few minutes ago," he explained awkwardly. He, too, was evidently at a loss as to why she was there.

"We were just having some coffee. Want some, Lucky?"

"No thanks." He hadn't taken his eyes off Devon. Nor had hers strayed from him.

"The, uh, the crew has already left for Louisiana."

"That's good."

Chase's futile attempts at conversation only emphasized the teeming silence. Uneasily he cleared his throat. "Uh, well, I need to be, uh, doing some things outside. See y'all later." As Chase went past Lucky on his way out, he jostled him with his elbow. It was a silent brotherly communiqué that said, "Snap out of it."

Once Chase had closed the door behind himself, Lucky remarked, "I'm surprised to see you here."

Her smile was swift and unsure. "I surprised myself by coming."

He sat down in a ladder-back chair, his eyes roving hungrily over her face.

"I've been trying to call you since yesterday afternoon, Devon."

"I took my phone off the hook."

"I gathered that. Why?"

"After reading yesterday's newspaper, everybody in the world was trying to call me, it seemed."

Lucky frowned. "I hate like hell that the story came out. I wanted to keep you anonymous for as long as possible. Please believe that."

"I know you had nothing to do with it. Who do you think was responsible?"

He told her about Susan. "She looked guilty as hell when I confronted her. I'm convinced she made it her business to find out who you were and, out of spite, spilled the beans to a reporter."

"Well, it doesn't really matter now how the story got out. The damage is done."

He studied her a moment, noticing that her face was drawn and pale. The last twenty-four hours must have been pure hell for her. She was gripping the coffee mug as though it were a buoy in a turbulent lake.

"Do you really want that coffee?" he asked. Shaking her head, she passed the mug to him. He took it and set it on the desk, then turned back to her. The question uppermost in his mind couldn't be avoided any longer.

"How did things go with your husband yesterday?"

A small shudder went through her, though it was uncomfortably warm in the office. "By the time I arrived, Greg had read the story," she said softly. "He merely dropped the newspaper and walked out."

"Without a word?"

"Words would have been superfluous, wouldn't they?"

"I guess so," Lucky murmured.

He was thinking that if he had a wife whom he loved as much as any husband should love his wife, he would have given her the benefit of the doubt and asked a few questions. He wouldn't have reacted until she either denied or confirmed the newspaper story.

If she had denied it, he would have comforted her, then immediately set out to get a retraction. If she had confirmed it, he probably would have gone nuts and carried on something terrible.

A furious outburst, tears, anguish, teeth-gnashing, threats of retaliation. Those would be the expected jealous reactions. They denoted feeling, passion. Simply stalking out was an almost inhuman response that made Greg Shelby sound cold, unfeeling.

"What did you do?" Lucky wanted to know.

"I read the story through. At first I just sat there, stunned. My character suffered in the translation. Somehow, once they were written down, the facts sounded ugly and shameful. So tawdry." She shivered again.

Lucky reached beyond the back of his chair to take one of her hands. "It wasn't, Devon."

"Wasn't it?" she asked, her eyes brimming.

"No."

The stare they exchanged then was so powerful, she prudently withdrew her hand and used her tears as the excuse. She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes.

"I had the prison guard try to get Greg to see me again, but he refused. Once I returned to Dallas, I called the warden and got permission to speak to him by telephone. I wanted desperately to explain." She shook her head mournfully. "He wouldn't even accept my call."

Lucky mentally called Greg Shelby every dirty name he could think of. "So what now? Do you want me to go with you to see him?"

"No!" Leaving her chair, she began roaming the office restlessly. "I don't believe he'd be willing to see either of us right now. After thinking it over and discussing it with Greg's attorney—who isn't at all pleased with me either—I think it's best to leave him alone for several days. He needs time to cool off and clear his head, so that when we do see each other again, he'll be able to listen calmly to my explanation."

"I don't know, Devon," he said doubtfully. "Given time to think about it, I would just get madder."

"Greg isn't as volatile as you."

"You're right about that." Lucky's concession wasn't intended as a compliment to Greg. "If you were my wife and some guy had messed with you, I'd've busted down the walls of that prison by now and be on my way to tear out his throat."

"Greg's not that … physical."

"Do you really think he'll eventually forgive and forget?"

"I hope so. Yes, in time, I believe he will."

The answer didn't cheer Lucky as it should have. Her husband sounded like a sanctimonious creep who could hold a grudge forever.

Lucky hated to think of Devon being tied to Shelby for the rest of her life.

Somewhat querulously he asked, "Did you come all the way from Dallas to tell me this?"

"No. There was another reason." She returned to her seat. "This whole thing has blown up in my face. Since I went into that lounge and ordered a beer, I've had nothing but trouble. It's out now that I'm your alibi in an arson case. Until the trial is over, and God only knows when that will be, my life is going to be a three-ring circus. I can't have that. I won't have it."

"I don't like the prospect of being a notorious public figure any better than you. But what can we do about it?"

"We can clear you with the investigators."

"We tried, remember? It only got me into deeper Dutch. You too."

"But we didn't present them with the real arsonist."

For the space of several seconds Lucky gave her a blank stare. Then he began to laugh. "You want to play detective?"

"Look, the sooner we get you cleared, the sooner this thing will blow over and we can get on with our lives. It's not going to be easy to make amends to Greg, but it would be a start if he knew we wouldn't be going through a trial together, and that I wouldn't constantly be in your company. I'm sure he would enjoy hearing that I never had to see you again."

She was batting a thousand on dismal thoughts this morning, but since he didn't have a viable alternative, he remained silent.

"I've cleared my calendar," she said. "I told my editor that I'm taking a week's vacation and plan to devote the time to tracking down the arsonist. When I get back, I promised him a terrific story, as well as an article on how interrogators can and do intimidate witnesses. I think— What are you grinning about so idiotically, Mr. Tyler?"

"You."

"You find me amusing?"

"You like having control over things, don't you? Even police matters."

"So far the police haven't done anything to help you. I can't do any worse than they have."

"Granted."

"I don't trust other people to do things for me."

"Um-huh," he said. "You're what we used to call a smarty britches."

Still grinning, he stood up and stretched. He was feeling a million times better than he had been an hour ago. He had been concerned because he hadn't spoken with Devon since the story of her involvement had been leaked. He'd also been dreading an entire day of not seeing her.

Then, lo and behold, she'd showed up and planned to stay for a while. Damn, he was lucky! The dreary reminder of her convict husband was pushed aside. Greg Shelby was a loser, a jerk, and, if Lucky was any judge of women at all—and he considered himself an expert on the fair sex—not that great in the sack.

If Shelby had been the man Devon deserved, no amount of persuasion could have got her into bed with another man. He hadn't even had to persuade. Something about her marriage to this Shelby character wasn't right. Lucky respected her for not discussing her marital troubles with an outsider; on the other hand he wanted to know why she was married to a man who had made her so unhappy. Apparently he was being granted the time and opportunity to find out.

The only thing that clouded his sunny mood was that he wouldn't be able to touch her. They would be spending a lot of time together, but she was still off-limits. That was going to kill him, because wanting her had become his chief occupation. More than worrying about his failing business, more than worrying about the fabricated arson charge against him, his desire for Devon was all-consuming.

But seeing her under adverse circumstances was better than not seeing her at all.

"I always enjoyed playing cops and robbers," he said. "Where do we start?"

"First, I'd better check into a room. Where's the best place to stay?"