Lip Service

by Susan Mallery

  “I don’t want ’em. We run beef here. We always have. When did you sell out? Chickens? And organic beef? What’s next? Do we all go around saving the spotted owl and hugging trees?”

  Arturo frowned, then folded his arms across his big chest. “I told you what I wanted to do seven years ago. I explained everything and said to let me know if you didn’t want me to go ahead with the changes.”

  Which was probably true. “I didn’t read any of the reports,” Mitch admitted, wishing there was a casual way he could sit down and take the weight off his stump. It felt like it was on fire.

  “What about the bank statements?” Arturo asked, sounding more curious than pissed.

  “Once in a while.” He’d seen enough to know there was plenty of money. The ranch had grown even more profitable in the time he’d been away.

  “The cattle industry is changing,” Arturo said. “Consumers want things different these days. They worry that their beef isn’t safe. They don’t want the antibiotics. They want clean poultry that isn’t raised in cages. This way we avoid all those problems. Certified, organic beef means…”

  Arturo kept talking but Mitch wasn’t listening. A hundred years of tradition over in a heartbeat. Nothing was the way he thought it should be. Nothing was right.

  He headed for the door. Every step sent pain shooting up his thigh to his hip. His back throbbed.

  “You need to know about this,” Arturo told him.

  “You handle it.”

  “You’re the boss. This is all for you, Mitch. That’s why I did it. For you.”

  Mitch turned slowly. He was sure the old man meant it. That his intentions had been good. “I don’t want it,” Mitch said slowly. “Any of it. Not the chickens or the organic beef. I want things back the way they were.”

  What he meant was himself. He knew that. Arturo would know it, too. Nothing about his statement was subtle.

  He stepped into the house and stumbled when his prosthesis caught on the threshold. Arturo grabbed him to keep him from going down.

  Mitch shook off the help and walked as steadily as he could back to the room Fidela had converted into a bedroom. Once inside, he closed the door, then sat on the bed.

  His toes twitched, his ankle moved, his calf tensed. He could feel it. All of it. It was real, as was the pain…and the loss.

  Nothing was as it was supposed to be. Everything was screwed up and broken. Even him. Especially him.

  SKYE FINISHED rubbing down her horse, then walked back toward the house. For once, the sight of Glory’s Gate rising tall and proud against the blue Texas sky didn’t lighten her mood. She was battling too many emotions, most of them bad, to appreciate architecture or stately columns. Not when she was torn between the tingles still jolting her body. And shame.

  Once in the mudroom, she pulled off her boots and socks and slipped into a pair of sandals. A quick check of the clock told her that casual sex on the ground hadn’t put her too far behind schedule.

  There was a party that night. A couple hundred of Jed Titan’s closest friends would stop by for cocktails between six and eight. A dozen or so of the mighty who attended had been graced with an invitation for dinner, but the meal wasn’t her problem. He would take them out for that.

  Before then she had to make sure everything was in place. That the party would be perfect. Nothing less was allowed. Titans did things well or they didn’t do them at all.

  She walked into her downstairs office, the one she used to coordinate the social events that made Glory’s Gate sparkle five or six times a month. White dry-erase board covered two of the walls. A grid had been painted in place, allowing her to write in the details for each event. She could look at four different parties at the same time.

  Her desk was simple—a long, low surface with a computer and plenty of storage trays for files. She had a Rolodex with the name of every florist, caterer, musician and party planner in a two-hundred-mile radius.

  In the closet were hard copies of the details of all the parties she’d given in this house. With an average of five a month over eight years, she was in need of more storage. Because those files contained more than just menus. They listed guests, drinks, decorations, musical selections, the caterer and staff along with any notable particulars—press clippings and even social connections that had been made.

  The same information was on her computer and could be sorted by any variation. Two years ago the new White House social secretary had come for a two-day visit and taken continuous notes as Skye explained her process.

  It wasn’t rocket science, Skye thought as she sank into her chair and turned on her computer. It wasn’t even more than mildly interesting. It was just what she did. Skye Titan—master party planner.

  “That’s not fair,” she murmured aloud, knowing that her day job was important. If Jed had remarried, his wife would have taken over, but as he hadn’t, it made sense that one of his daughters would step into the breach. Neither Lexi nor Izzy were the least bit interested and there was the tiny fact that Skye had attended Swiss finishing school for nearly two years.

  None of this really mattered, she thought, but at least it was a distraction. Because if she didn’t think about napkin colors and garnishes she might think about Mitch again.

  She knew he’d wanted to hurt her and she even knew why. He’d won that round. So what? She would survive. Eventually the harsh words wouldn’t burn so deeply. As for the sex, she would consider that nothing more than a welcome-home present. Slightly more personal than flowers.

  She teetered on the knife’s edge of emotion. On one side lay cynical humor, on the other, an emotional breakdown. She did her best to fall into sarcastically funny because tears wouldn’t solve anything.

  Oh, but she’d missed him. She knew he wouldn’t believe that and if he did, he wouldn’t care. After all, she’d been the one to walk away from him to marry a man she didn’t love. She’d been the one to break both their hearts.

  “Enough,” she said aloud, and pushed to her feet. A quick glance at the clock told her the catering staff should be arriving any second. She returned to the kitchen in time to see three vans pull up.

  She welcomed them and chatted with Diane, the catering manager. They’d handled dozens of parties for her and knew what to do. Ten minutes later she climbed the stairs to get ready.

  With each step, she felt an ache inside—a physical reminder of what she and Mitch had done.

  Sex in the dirt? In the middle of the afternoon? That wasn’t her. She was careful and reserved. She was very aware of her position as the head of a charitable foundation and a single mother. She hadn’t been on a date since before she’d married Ray. Certainly not since his death. She wouldn’t ever allow herself to…

  Except she had allowed. She’d done more than that. She’d taken and given and lost herself in a wave of pleasure she hadn’t experienced in nearly nine years. The fire had always burned with Mitch and it still smoldered inside.

  “What on earth was I thinking?” she asked herself as she reached the landing. There wasn’t an answer, probably because she hadn’t been thinking.

  She walked into her bedroom to find Izzy stretched out on the bed, again watching her TV.

  “If you don’t like your bedroom, we can find you another one,” Skye told her.

  Izzy sat up. “There’s nothing wrong with my room. I wanted to talk to you before the party.”

  “The party you’re not coming to?”

  Izzy grinned. “Not even for money. Come on, Skye. Jed’s parties are boring. He expects me to behave.”

  “Not an area in which you excel.”

  “Exactly.”

  Izzy bounced to her feet.

  Skye studied her sister. Izzy was the wild child—physically free, emotionally flighty. She feared nothing except getting tied down. Since barely finishing high school, she’d held jobs ranging from ski instructor to underwater welder, the latter being her current position on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.
r />   “I met T.J. last night,” Izzy said.

  Skye kicked off her sandals. “After you and I talked about what happened?” She groaned. Izzy was very protective and not exactly rational in her approach. “Tell me you didn’t do something that’s going to humiliate me.”

  “Would I do that?”

  “Not on purpose.”

  “I was totally well mannered. You would have been impressed.”

  “Doubtful,” Skye murmured, wondering what part of this conversation was going to make her cringe. “What happened?”

  “We talked. He’s good-looking. You didn’t mention that.”

  “I guess. Not my type. Not yours, either. He’s borderline normal. You know how you hate that.”

  Izzy crossed to the mirror above the dresser and studied her reflection. “Is he from around here? I get the feeling I’ve seen him before.”

  “Yes. He’s a couple of years older than Lexi. We all went to the same high school.”

  “Interesting.” Izzy turned to face Skye. “Local rich boy wants to be richer. Jed Titan can help with that. It’s an old story, but one I never get tired of hearing. He came on to me.”

  Skye carefully unzipped her jeans, then pushed them down and stepped out of them. In Izzy’s world, every guy came on to her.

  “You might want to swing by the kitchen after the party,” she said as she headed for the bathroom. “We’re having those mini pizza appetizers you like. I’m sure there will be leftovers.”

  Izzy followed her. “He came on to me, Skye. Seriously. He wants me.”

  Skye told herself she was too mature to roll her eyes, however much she really wanted to. “Okay. Thanks for the share.”

  “I’m telling you for your own good. Your sense of duty means you won’t blow this guy off on general principle. He’s a jerk. Be careful.”

  Skye’s afternoon had been a roller coaster of emotion. The thrill of seeing Mitch again, the pleasure of making love with him, the humiliation of his dismissal. She was tired, confused, ashamed and sick of feeling that everything was her fault.

  “Be careful?” she repeated. “Why? Oh, let me guess. Because while T.J. is desperate to have you because you’re so amazing, the only reason he could possibly be interested in me is because Jed is offering him money.”

  Izzy took a step back. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s all very clear. I’m no one. A nonsexual being. A man would have to be bribed or desperate to want to get into my bed.”

  Had Mitch been desperate? Or just angry?

  “That’s not what I meant,” Izzy said loudly, “and you know it. Look, I was mad because he dismissed you and I went to call him on it. We got to talking and he was interested. That’s all.”

  Skye’s temper grew. “You went to defend me and ended up getting a date? Gee, thanks. Your support is overwhelming.”

  “It’s not like you ever date,” Izzy snapped. “You’re not exactly experienced with guys like him. I’m trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “Obviously not. Fine. Date him. Play the game. Do what Daddy says. It’s what you’re good at.”

  Izzy stalked from the bathroom. Seconds later, the bedroom door slammed.

  Skye looked around for something to throw, but she didn’t keep anything breakable in the bathroom. Not with a child in the house. She was too sensible for that.

  Izzy might be too self-absorbed to understand anyone else’s point of view, but she’d gotten one thing right. Skye did do what Daddy said. She was the good mother, the good sister, the good daughter. The good girl. Although if she had sex in the dirt with Mitch a second time, she just might be on her way to blowing her reputation.

  And that would be okay with her.

  “WHAT AN INTERESTING musical choice,” the congressman’s wife said, staring at the four college kids Skye had hired for the evening. “That kind of music is…”

  “Hip-hop,” Skye told her. “I read about the group. They’re attending Texas A&M and supplementing their scholarships by performing. I went to hear them last month and was impressed.”

  She’d dropped into a frat party to hear them, but the congressman’s wife wouldn’t want to know that. Three different guys had hit on Skye in the twenty minutes she’d been in the house. The fact that they were barely out of high school and completely drunk had pretty much diluted any possible compliment.

  “Interesting,” the other woman said.

  Skye was pretty sure she actually meant something more along the lines of “horrifying” but was too polite to say that. Skye didn’t care. She liked the guys and their music. She could go the rest of her life without hearing another tasteful quartet.

  She excused herself to circulate. There were two hundred people to greet and make feel welcome. The evening seemed more stressful than usual, probably because of her fight with Izzy. She hated arguing with either of her sisters. With their mother gone and Jed being, well, Jed, they only had one another to depend on.

  They would talk later, she promised herself. Make things right.

  “So far, so good,” Jed said as he moved past her.

  Skye shook her head. She knew what her father implied—that things were fine now, but the evening wasn’t over. There could still be a disaster.

  “Have you noticed that every party I’ve given has been perfect?” she muttered.

  “I’m not sure talking to yourself gives a good first impression.”

  Skye turned toward the speaker and saw T.J. next to her. “Maybe not, but it ensures I have plenty of personal space. How are you? If you’re looking for Izzy, this isn’t her thing. Or is talking to me going to work, too?”

  T.J. winced. “So you did hear.”

  “News travels fast. Titanville is a small town.”

  “And the doors at Glory’s Gate need to be thicker.” He put his hand on her back and guided her to a corner. “I’m sorry. I doubt me saying that makes a difference, but I really am. I was making a point with your father.”

  He sounded sincere, which meant exactly nothing. “The point being?”

  “That when he says jump, I’m not going to ask how high. You’re beautiful, Skye. I hope you believe me because I’m telling the truth. You’re lovely and intriguing and if I had let Jed know I was the least bit interested in you, he’d have all the power. I can’t give that away.”

  Words she could understand. But could she trust them? Or him? “Not to worry, T.J. We’re fine.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “But you’re dismissing me?”

  “I’m letting you off the hook.”

  “We could have dinner together instead. Or have I blown it with you? The fact that your father’s pushing us to be together isn’t my fault.”

  She smiled. “I know that. Not dating you because my father would like it is the same as dating someone he wouldn’t like just to annoy him.”

  “Now I’m confused.”

  “I don’t know you well enough to have an opinion of you.”

  “Let’s change that.”

  His eyes were deep blue and he wore his custom suit with style and ease. He should have been everything she ever wanted.

  “Did you come on to Izzy?” she asked.

  His gaze never wavered. “We talked last night. Mostly about how she wanted to kick my ass for what I’d said. Did I mention I was sorry?”

  “More than once. But you also didn’t answer the question. Did you come on to my sister?”

  “It’s a trick question. If I say yes, I’m a jerk. If I say no, you’ll think I don’t like her.”

  She smiled. “Maybe.”

  He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “You’re the one I’m asking out, Skye. Say yes.”

  He didn’t make her heart beat faster, but that wasn’t a bad thing. It meant he would probably never break it.

  “Please?” he murmured.

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Dinner would be nice.”

  MITCH PULLED the
sock over his stump, only to wince as the soft fabric came into contact with the raw and bleeding flesh. He’d been doing too much, too soon, and he was paying the price. His therapist had warned him about pacing himself, not that Mitch had listened.

  Ignoring the pain shooting through his leg, he eased it into the prosthesis, then tentatively pushed into a standing position. While it hurt, the soreness was bearable. As the alternative was crutches and an empty pant leg, he told himself he was fine.

  He left the makeshift bedroom and walked into the kitchen. He wasn’t hungry, but knew if he didn’t make an appearance, Fidela would come looking for him. He’d escaped her last night by turning out the lights in his room, guessing she would think he was asleep. But that wasn’t going to work for long. Fidela was stubborn and wily. He would rather face her directly. Besides, she was a whole lot easier than the dark.

  When it was dark, the past returned, haunting him like a ghost. He remembered what it had been like to be in love with Skye. How happy they’d been. He remembered his pain and disbelief when she’d told him it was over.

  In the dark, he remembered the explosion and how Pete had saved him, dragging him, not even slowing when he’d gotten shot himself. Pete had recovered in a couple of weeks and was already back in Afghanistan. Mitch knew the loss of his leg was just one of those things and the sooner he got over it, the sooner the dark would lose its power.

  He stepped into the bright, sunny kitchen. Fidela stood at the counter, mixing something in a bowl.

  “Morning,” he said, then frowned when he saw a young girl sitting at the table. “Who are you?”

  She had red hair and big blue eyes. She looked familiar even though he knew he’d never seen her before. Her spoon dropped into her cereal as she sprang to her feet and beamed at him.

  “You’re here! You’re really here. Fiddle said you were coming home and I’ve been waiting forever.” She moved close and reached out a hand, touching his arm as if to make sure he was real. “I’ve been hoping and praying. Fiddle and I prayed for you every day. And I talked about you in school and we sent cards to the soldiers. Did you get mine? I put your name on the envelope. It was pink. I know that’s a girl color, but it’s pretty. And you’re a hero and I thought you’d like something pretty and Fiddle said you’d come home and you’re here!”