Texas! Lucky

by Sandra Brown

  "Don't! Don't touch me like that."

  "Why?"

  "Because … because…"

  "Because it drives you as crazy as it does me."

  "Stop."

  "Only if you tell me I'm wrong about the way you feel. Tell me I'm wrong, Devon, then I'll stop."

  "Please. Just leave me alone."

  "I can't." He groaned. "I can't."

  She turned her head toward her shoulder.

  He lowered his. Their mouths met in a greedy kiss. She turned into the circle of his arms, which pulled her against him. Resting his hands on her hips, guiding them, he positioned her against him.

  As his passions burned hotter, he also got angrier because he knew she was forbidden to him. Despite his penchant to misbehave during Sunday school, some spiritual training had penetrated his young mind. That formal religious instruction, plus all the moral lessons drilled into him by his conscientious parents, declared that this was wrong, wrong, wrong.

  Yet he couldn't deny himself her kisses, not when her mouth was warm and sweet and eager. He kept telling himself that the next kiss would be the last—forever. But one only made him hungry for more.

  "Dammit, Devon, resist me. Stop this. Stop me." He was so obsessed with her, he was seized by a primal urge to fight for her. Pressing her head between his hands, he tilted her head back drastically. "Where is he? Where is the slob you're married to? Where was he when you were traveling around East Texas alone? Is he crazy to give you that kind of freedom? Is he blind? Why isn't the bastard here now, protecting you from me, protecting you from yourself."

  Lucky had posed the questions rhetorically. He didn't really expect answers. That's why he was shocked when she cried, "He's in prison!"

  The lights suddenly came back on.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  Lucky blinked several times. Watching him, Devon realized it was from shock as much as from the sudden glare of the fluorescent tubes overhead. The stark light was offensive and unwelcome. It revealed too much. She edged out from between Lucky and the counter and switched it off. She was more comfortable with only the glow from the single candle on the table. It made her feel less exposed.

  "Prison?" He remained in the same spot, as though his boots were nailed to the floor.

  "The minimum-security federal prison in East Texas. It's only about fifty miles from—"

  "I know where it is."

  "I'd been there to see him and was on my way home when I decided to do some research for my article. I figured that a tavern in a less urban area would better prove my theory. As it turned out, I was right."

  That was all the explanation he needed.

  At least, it was all he was going to get. She wasn't going to provide him with a detailed account of her visit with her husband, which had left her terribly upset. It was none of his business to know how shattering that visit had been.

  By pure chance Lucky Tyler had happened to be at the right place at the right time—or the wrong place and time, depending on one's point of view—to take advantage of her highly emotional state.

  "What's he in the pen for?"

  "Insider trading. SEC violations."

  "Did he do it?"

  "Of course not!" she lied. "Do you think I'd marry a criminal?" At least she'd believed in his innocence when she'd married him.

  "How the hell do I know?" He moved then, bearing down on her angrily. "All I really know about you is that you cheat on your husband."

  The accusation sounded ugly. Because she couldn't tell him the truth, she pretended to be angry and responded with a quick denial. "I do not!"

  "That's not the way I remember it."

  Moving to the door, she jerked it open. "You can leave the same way you came in—through the back door. I'll open the garage for you."

  "Not that easy, Devon."

  "Now that you understand the awkward position you've placed me in, I'm asking you to go."

  "I don't understand anything!" he shouted, reaching beyond her shoulder to slam the door closed again. It created a waft of air that disturbed the candle and made it flicker, projecting wavering shadows of them onto the walls. "We're about to have our second night together."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I'm not leaving until I have a full explanation from you."

  "I don't owe you—"

  "Is Haines your name or his?"

  "Mine. His name is Shelby. Greg Shelby."

  "How long have you been married?"

  She was in no mood to be grilled, but he wasn't going to leave without the full picture, and, she admitted, she couldn't blame him. If their positions were reversed, she would be just as frustrated as he. He wouldn't have to know all of it. Just some of it. That would pacify him.

  Or would it? When she fell victim to his compelling blue stare, as now, his eyes seemed to see straight through her. It was unsettling, even frightening. What if she accidentally let her guard down and by way of a look, a sigh, prompted him to guess or learn the single most important fact of that night that he didn't seem to remember?

  To cover her uneasiness, she politely asked, "Would you like some coffee?"

  "No."

  "Something?"

  "Answers."

  "Let's go into the living room."

  She cupped her hand behind the candle flame and blew it out. In darkness she navigated the hallway leading into the living room. There, she switched on only one lamp before taking a seat in the corner of an ivory upholstered sofa. Lucky dropped onto the hassock in front of the blue leather chair, spread his knees wide, and loosely clasped his hands between them.

  "Shoot," he said.

  She began without preamble. "When Greg's trial came up, I asked my editor's permission to do a feature story on him."

  "You didn't know him before that?"

  "No."

  "What piqued your interest enough to want to write about him?"

  "Most criminals, from serial killers to petty thieves, fit a particular profile," she said. "White-collar criminals are generally arrogant and condescending toward their prosecutors, whether they're proved guilty or not."

  "Go on."

  "Well, from what I'd read about Greg, he didn't fit that profile. He was pathetically earnest in his denials of any wrongdoing. That intrigued me. I sold my editor on the idea. He said to go for it. Next, I had to go through Greg's attorney and the D.A.'s Office to get their permission. This took several weeks.

  "Greg's lawyer stipulated that he be present during the interviews, which I agreed to. The prosecutor stipulated that the articles would have to be read and approved by someone in the D.A.'s Office before publication. You see, they couldn't lean toward either guilt or innocence, but had to be completely unbiased." Lucky nodded. "When everyone was satisfied, I was finally granted my first interview with Greg."

  "Love at first sight?"

  "No, but I was attracted."

  "Physically?"

  "Among other things."

  "A man in handcuffs can be a real turn-on." She ignored his sarcasm. "He wasn't in jail at the time. He had posted bail."

  Thinking back on that first meeting in his attorney's office, Devon recalled wondering how anyone could suspect Greg of being guilty of an outstanding parking ticket, much less a felony. He was impeccably dressed in a three-piece, very conservative charcoal-gray suit, white shirt, sedately striped tie. His reddish-brown hair had been carefully combed back from his high, smooth forehead. He could have given Emily Post lessons on courtesy.

  "What did you get from that first meeting?" Lucky asked.

  "A sense of his background."

  "Which was?"

  "He was reared in a Pennsylvania steel town by very strict and religious parents from whom he was—and is to this day—estranged."

  "Why? I can't imagine willfully cutting myself off from my family."

  Devon could have guessed that. Earlier he had expressed regret over causing his family their present difficulties. Ap
parently what affected one Tyler affected them all, and each took the others' problems to heart.

  "Greg wasn't fortunate enough to have the family closeness that you enjoy, Mr. Tyler. Indeed, few people are," she said reflectively, sadly. "Greg's father had worked for the same steel company all his life. He couldn't grasp the concept of playing the stock market, and ridiculed Greg for not holding down a steady job."

  "So you've never met his parents?"

  "No."

  "What about yours? What do they think of having a son-in-law in jail?"

  "My parents are dead."

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I know how it feels to lose a parent. My dad died a couple of years ago." She acknowledged that with a nod of her head. "How soon after that first meeting did you start dating Shelby?"

  "We've never had an actual date." The statement drew a frown of disbelief from Lucky. "It's true. His attorney advised us against being seen together socially. It wouldn't be appropriate for a man on trial to be seen doing the town."

  "So the courtship took place under the lawyer's watchful eye? Bet he got a kick out of that," Lucky commented scornfully.

  "He isn't a voyeur. After the first couple of meetings he realized he could trust me, that I wasn't there to exploit his client, so he left us alone."

  "How convenient."

  "Actually it was," she snapped. "We had time to get to know each other."

  "I'll bet."

  "I realized just how falsely Greg had been accused. He knew that someone in his firm had leaked valuable information to certain clients. Whoever it was had been very clever. He left a trail of evidence pointing directly at Greg. Greg's defense was based solely on his lack of material gain. If he'd committed the crime for profit, where was the profit?"

  "Hey," Lucky said, "I'm not the jury. They've already reached a verdict. I'm more interested in you … and Greg, of course."

  "As time went on, Greg and I became more emotionally involved."

  "Hmm."

  "It was difficult to maintain an objective viewpoint."

  "No doubt."

  "I wanted to defend him myself, so I had to give up writing the articles. They created a conflict of interest that no credible journalist can afford. Greg was upset by that. He hadn't wanted our romance to interfere with my career."

  "The free publicity couldn't have been all that bad either."

  That comment struck a sore spot. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing, nothing," Lucky said tiredly, as though it didn't matter. "So when Shelby popped the question, you said yes?"

  "That's right. He asked me to marry him as soon as the trial was over. But I wanted to get married right then."

  "Why?"

  Yes, why? What had she been out to prove? That she was smarter than his accusers, that she was right in her estimation of him when everyone else was wrong? Or had it gone back to her mother's death a few years earlier? Her mother's earnest claims of being ill still echoed inside her head. Had they overlapped with Greg's avowals of innocence?

  "I'm in pain, Devon. Truly. I can't stand it. Please help me."

  "I'm innocent, Devon. I swear it. You've got to help me."

  She couldn't turn a deaf ear to a desperate person seeking help. Because of what had happened with her mother, her heart was compelled to believe Greg, even when the facts didn't bear out his claims of innocence.

  Only later had she realized she'd been duped. She had bought his entire act, swallowed the bait whole, played right into his hands. It was almost as though Greg had crawled inside her head and heard her mother's feeble voice saying the words that haunted Devon. He had known exactly how to manipulate her to pity.

  To admit that to Lucky Tyler was unthinkable, however. She continued to defend Greg adamantly, because there was no graceful way out. Besides, he was, legally, her husband. Marriage carried with it responsibilities one didn't just turn one's back on.

  In answer to Lucky's question, she perpetuated the myth she had created, even though she knew it to be a justification for her gullibility. "I married him to demonstrate my confidence in his innocence. We were married in a civil ceremony in his lawyer's office."

  "So how long between the nuptials and his conviction?"

  "Two days. Greg was the only witness his defense attorney called to the stand," she explained. "He was eloquent and sincere. I couldn't believe my ears when the jury returned a guilty verdict."

  She closed her eyes. "I can still see the bailiffs moving toward him to take him into custody. Greg looked stricken."

  And furious, she thought. His failure to sway the jurors had enraged him. Those twelve people hadn't been convinced of his sincerity. She was the only one who had been fooled.

  "How long ago was that?"

  "Eleven months."

  "What was his sentence?"

  "Two years in prison. Ten years probation. His lawyer says he'll probably serve less than half that."

  "So he could be paroled soon."

  "He comes up for review in a few weeks."

  Lucky stood up and put his back to her. He slid his hands, palms out, into the hip pockets of his jeans. There was a palpable tension in the way he held his shoulders. When he came back around, his expression was fierce and angry.

  "How many times in the last eleven months have you cheated on him?"

  "None of your business."

  "The hell it's not!" Grabbing her hand, he pulled her to her feet. "I don't know if I'm one of dozens, one of an elite few, or the one and only. Frankly I don't know which prefer, but I damn sure want to know."

  "It doesn't make any difference."

  "It does to me."

  Tears threatened. She wanted to shout the truth at him. You're the only one. Ever. Instead, her voice cracking, she whispered, "You're the only one."

  His shoulders relaxed marginally, and some of the ferocity in his eyes dimmed. "Guess I'll have to take your word for that."

  "Whether you do or not, it's the truth."

  "Do you love him?"

  "He's my husband."

  "That's not what I asked."

  "I'm not going to discuss my relationship with my husband with you."

  "Why not?"

  "Because you have no right to know."

  "You shared your body, but you won't share a few facts?"

  "I didn't share anything." She protested verbally, but the words didn't originate in her heart. "What happened just … evolved. It started with a few kisses and went from there. You caught me unaware."

  "You were unaware of my tongue on your nipple?"

  No, she inwardly groaned. She remembered every touch in vivid detail, but desperately wished she didn't. "I was half-asleep. I merely responded to the stimuli."

  He took a menacing step forward. "If you tell me you were pretending that I was your husband, I'll strangle you."

  "No," she said tearfully, "I wasn't pretending that."

  Unable to meet his stare, she lowered her eyes. The silence in the house pressed in on her suffocatingly. His sheer physicality overwhelmed her.

  To put essential space between them, she began to wander restlessly around the room, restacking magazines on the end table, looking for any task that would keep her hands occupied and her eyes off him.

  "They used to stone women for doing what you did."

  Fluffing the sofa pillows, she sprang erect. "What we did, Mr. Tyler. You were in that bed too."

  "I remember," he said tightly. "I'm willing to take my share of the responsibility for what happened. You're not."

  Placing her hands on her hips, she confronted him belligerently. "What would you suggest I do? Go through the city passing out rocks to everyone? Or start wearing a red letter A on my chest? In some cultures, they behead adulterers. Do you think justice would be served then? If so, are you willing to place your head on the same chopping block? Because it sure as hell was on the same pillow."

  That reminder abruptly ended the shouting match. She turned her back on him.

&nb
sp; "I had a lapse of judgment and made a mistake," she said. "Believe me, my conscience has been punishing me ever since."

  He moved in behind her and spoke her name, his voice soft and consoling now. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her around to face him and tilted her head up with a finger beneath her chin.

  "I don't want to punish you. Whether you believe it or not, I blame myself a whole lot more than I blame you. I could confess ten sins to every one of yours, I'm sure. Adultery has never been one of them before, but…" As their gazes moved together and locked, his voice dwindled to nothingness.

  "Never?" she said hoarsely.

  "Never."

  "If you had known I was married…"

  He pondered his answer for several seconds before saying, "I'm not sure it would have mattered."

  Then, not only did their stares merge, but their recollections as well. Each remembered the smell and touch and taste of the other. Each had actively participated in what happened in that motel-room bed. Each had to accept his share of the blame, take responsibility for it.

  "I have to vouch for you," she whispered, "I really don't have a choice, do I?"

  "Yes, you do," he replied, surprising her. "I won't force you to, Devon."

  "But if I don't, it'll mean so much more hardship on you and your family. I can't let that happen. Ever since you told me yesterday about the fire, I've known I would eventually have to come forward as your alibi. It's the right thing to do." She gave a wistful little smile. "I guess I was hoping for a miracle that would make it unnecessary."

  He touched the corner of her smile with his fingertip. "Your husband will never have to know. We'll keep your identity a secret. I haven't been officially charged. I'm just a prime suspect. Once you've told them that I was with you from dusk to dawn that night, I'll be cleared, and you'll be free to go. It'll never become a matter of public record."

  Situations of this magnitude were rarely resolved that easily, she knew. Still, she didn't want to throw a cloak of pessimism over his expectations. "I'll take tomorrow off and come to Milton Point. I want to get it over with as soon as possible."