The Book Babes Boxed Set (Texas Ties/Texas Troubles/Texas Together)

by Jean Brashear

  “I have a colleague who’s ready to hit the streets with her placards, too. She’s salivating at the thought of meeting the famous Tom Sinclair.”

  Ava groaned. “Oh, please. Like his ego needs any stroking.” She chuckled. “Is she beautiful?”

  “Yes.”

  “Young?”

  “Long legs, too. And bright.”

  “He’ll think he died and went to heaven.”

  Luisa worried for her friend. Ava hadn’t known men the way she had. “Doesn’t it ever worry you? Tom’s a vital, attractive man.”

  “Who happens to love me and be my best friend. I don’t worry about Tom being faithful.”

  Are you sure? she wanted to ask, but didn’t. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “No, you’re not. But that’s okay. I’ll convert you to a believer in marriage yet.”

  “So why did you call?”

  Ava laughed. “I can’t just call you to BS?”

  “You could, but you never do, not here.”

  Ava’s tone grew serious. “You’ll laugh, but I just had to make sure someone hadn’t gone off the deep end.”

  “You mean Ellie. And Laken.”

  “Laken’s always off the deep end. It’s Ellie and Sylvie I’m worried about. Something’s very wrong with Sylvie and Gabe—has she said anything to you?”

  “If she told anyone, it would be Ellie.”

  Ava sighed. “And that’s the other thing. Sylvie wants Ellie to take art lessons.”

  “I think it’s great.”

  “From Saxon Gaillard.”

  Luisa was speechless.

  Ava laughed. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “Has Sylvie thought this through?”

  “She swears she has. Says not to worry, it’ll be perfect.”

  Luisa shook her head. “Ellie needs something new in her life, that’s true.”

  In unison, they chimed, “But Saxon?” Both broke up laughing.

  “I’ve got to get back to work, Lu. I guess we’ll see what happens. Good to talk to you. Let me know if I need to come put a knot on Carlito’s head.”

  Luisa sobered instantly. “You’ll have to get in line. Bye, Ava. Keep me posted on the continuing saga.”

  Ava laughed and hung up.

  Luisa rose from the chair, looking at the clock. Office hours were finished and she had no other classes today. Time to go look for her son.

  * * *

  Ellie was on her knees, scrubbing out Sam’s toy box. Piles of toys lay all around her, some broken, some she hadn’t seen him play with in ages. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d done this. Maybe when Sam started Mothers’ Day Out?

  Guilt was a powerful motivator. Ellie didn’t try to lie to herself. It had been a long night, tossing beside Wyatt. He’d finally grunted and pulled her into him, letting the comfort of his body soothe her enough to sleep.

  Which only made her feel worse.

  The phone rang, and she grabbed for the escape from her thoughts. “Hello?”

  “Out of sorts or out of breath, darling?”

  “Sylvie.” Don’t start. Don’t ask me anything. “I-I was just cleaning, that’s all.”

  “How are you today, Ellie?”

  “I’m fine—but busy, Sylvie. I’ll call you back, all right?” She pulled the receiver away from her ear.

  “Ellie, you can run, but you can’t hide.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this. It was simple hormones last night. Forget I said anything.”

  “Can you?” In the silence, Sylvie continued. “Darling, it’s not as if you committed adultery on the courthouse square. You only said you wanted to be more than a wife and mother. It’s hardly a hanging offense.”

  Sounding so reasonable, Sylvie made her feel foolish. “I just—it’s only that…” Ellie stared out the window at Joseph splashing Sam with the water hose. “I have a wonderful family.”

  “Of course you do. You love them, and they love you.”

  “That should be enough.”

  “Should it?” There was an odd note in Sylvie’s voice.

  “Are you all right, Sylvie?” She could almost see the elegant, narrow nose pinch.

  “Of course I’m fine. We’re not talking about me.”

  Oh, but she’d like to. Much more than talking about herself. “What’s wrong between you and Gabe?”

  “I—Ellie, I can’t discuss it. Things will work out.”

  “He loves you. He has for years.”

  The bitter laugh was unlike Sylvie. “That’s not it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Ellie, I am not discussing this now.” Sylvie’s cultured voice turned pleading. “Please. I—I just can’t right now. Please understand.”

  “Is your mother worse?”

  “My mother’s the same. Nothing’s changed.”

  But something had. However, pushing Sylvie was never fruitful. If she told anyone what was going on, it would be Ellie. She’d just have to be there for her friend and wait. It still amazed Ellie that someone so different could have become such a good friend. After Ava, Sylvie was the closest person to her in the group. Opposite ends of the spectrum, plain Ellie and sophisticated Sylvie, but somehow they were still close.

  “All right. But remember, I’m here if you need me.”

  “I know. And thank you. Now let’s think about you. I have a splendid plan all worked out.”

  “Sylvie, no—”

  “We’re only talking a few hours a week, Ellie. Hardly neglect material. Your family will never even notice—except when they see you happier.”

  “How do you know I’ll be happier?”

  “I’ll be happier, therefore I will leave you alone—and then you’ll be happier, ne c’est pas?”

  Ellie couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, what is it I have to do for a couple of hours every week to get you off my back?”

  “I’ll ignore your total ingratitude. I have arranged for painting lessons on Thursday mornings.”

  “I can’t afford them.”

  “He’s not charging much.”

  “Who?”

  “Saxon.”

  “Gaillard?” Ellie could barely breathe. “Saxon doesn’t teach lessons.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He couldn’t possibly teach. His pupils would run in fear.”

  Sylvie’s tone was amused. “Will you?”

  “Oh, Sylvie—Saxon? He would hate teaching me.”

  “He doesn’t think so.”

  “You asked him that?” Ellie heard the squeak in her voice. Saxon Gaillard was like a Viking warlord. He took up all the air in any room he inhabited. “Oh, lordy, did he just hit the roof?”

  “Ellie, I’m going to swear you to secrecy. Saxon needs something positive happening in his life. Being with you would be very good for him.”

  “Oh, give me a break, Sylvie. You can’t mean that. He’s—well, he’s Saxon Gaillard, for heaven’s sake. He’s—he’s phenomenally talented, and he’s gorgeous and he doesn’t even like people.”

  “He’ll like you.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Darling, it’s a marriage made in heaven. He needs your sweetness and you need his boldness.”

  “I’m not a coward.”

  “Then prove it.”

  “Let me think about it. Let me talk to Wyatt.”

  “Wyatt already agrees.”

  “Sylvie, you’d better be kidding. If you told Wyatt what I said last night, our friendship is over.”

  “Sh-h-h, down, girl. I simply called Wyatt and told him that I had this splendid opportunity I knew you’d never take if he didn’t back you.”

  “What did he say?”

  “The man adores you. He knows you have talent, and he wants you to be happy. He said it might be just the thing to help you over a difficult autumn. What did you expect? That he’d lock you in the closet?”

  “Oh, but Sylvie—” This was all going too
fast.

  “Oh Sylvie nothing. It’s all arranged. Thursday mornings at ten at Saxon’s studio on West Third down by the river. You start the first week of school, September third. Be there or face the wrath of the mighty Everett.”

  Visions danced before Ellie…fabulous images of paintings she’d do—mixed with bolts of stark terror at the thought of Saxon laughing at her.

  “What if he thinks I’m no good? What if he laughs?”

  “Hush, Ellie. He won’t. I have a customer now. Bye, darling.”

  “Sylvie—”

  “What?”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  “You will thank me. But when I have glorious new paintings to sell, it will be me thanking you. It all evens out, sweet Ellie. Toodles.”

  Ellie stared out the window. Two weeks away. Two weeks until she—

  Grabbing up the phone, she started to punch in Sylvie’s number. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t.

  Take a chance, Ellie. For once in your life, take a chance. Pressing her hand to her stomach, she laid the phone down gently, biting her lip. The smell of turpentine wafted into her memory. It would feel so good to hold a paintbrush again, so wonderful to let go and be someone outside Mother Ellie.

  “Mom! Joseph hit me!”

  Ellie sighed.

  Even if it meant facing Saxon Gaillard.

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  September

  I can’t do it. Ellie raced around her house, looking for art supplies after changing clothes for the third time—she, who never wore anything interesting, only jeans and t-shirts and shorts and the occasional denim skirt.

  In defiance, she’d put back on the first thing she’d donned, a simple white t-shirt and an old pair of jeans. She wasn’t going to make a fashion statement. She was going to learn to paint.

  She sat down abruptly on a barstool at the kitchen counter, head in hands. What am I doing? I miss Christy so much I could die, and Sam looked so grown up when I left him at school…I just want to stay here safe in my nest and wait for the kids to come home. I’ll bake a new batch of cookies and we’ll sit around and talk, and it will be like old times.

  Except Christy wouldn’t be there. Ellie could feel how homesick her firstborn was, like a constant sick ache in her stomach. Wyatt had made her promise not to call the first week, to let Christy call first.

  But she could still remember the strawberry fuzz on that tiny head, the little girl in pink tights who refused to take off her tutu for a week.

  She missed her child like a limb that had been torn off.

  I’m not going. I can’t. I’ll just call Sylvie and—

  The doorbell rang. Without waiting, someone opened it.

  “Taxi service.” Ava.

  Ellie’s head lifted, vision blurred by tears. “I’m not going. Go away.”

  “I knew it. Poor baby.” Ava approached, pulling Ellie’s head against her shoulder, rubbing her back. “It’s awful, isn’t it? Like someone pulled off your arm and left you bleeding. Or ripped out your heart and expected you to keep living.”

  The dam burst. She’d been brave for the other children, and she’d only let herself cry in Wyatt’s arms the first night. But the ache…oh, the ache wouldn’t leave her.

  “She’s miserable, I know it.”

  Ava rocked her gently, smoothing her hair. “She probably is.”

  Ellie lifted her head again, horrified. Ava was supposed to say she was happy.

  “Don’t you remember it? The sick stomach from being around so many unfamiliar people?”

  “Oh, Ava, I have to call her.”

  “You do. But not until she calls first. It might be the most awful thing you’ll ever be asked to do, but you have to let her do this. She’ll make it, you know she will. You’ve raised her to be a strong, successful woman.”

  “How could I? I’m not.”

  Ava laughed, then hugged Ellie again. “You’re the strongest person I know, silly.” She patted her back. “Even strong enough to face Saxon Gaillard.”

  “I can’t go. I need to bake cookies.”

  Ava pointed at the full see-through cookie jar sitting only feet away. “And those go to the chickens, I guess?”

  Ellie rose and started pacing. “He terrifies me.”

  “He terrifies everyone.”

  “My family needs me.”

  Ava gave a slow appraisal to the big country kitchen and adjoining family room. “Yes, they do. But they’re not here. And it’s only a couple of hours.” She slapped her palms against her thighs. “Come on. You don’t want to be late. I’m driving.”

  Ellie turned around. “You’re taking me to my first day of school?”

  Ava shrugged. “Someone’s gotta do it. You’re acting about five years old.”

  Ellie had to laugh. “Darn it, Ava. I don’t want to go.”

  “Correction. You don’t want to want it. But you do. And your family will be happier if you’re happier.”

  “I’m not unhappy.”

  Ava sighed, running one hand through long brown waves. “Can you imagine explaining to that giant why you’re late? Hurry up, or I swear to God, I’m driving you over there and walking in, holding your hand.”

  “You’re such a bitch, Ava.”

  She laughed, green eyes sparkling. “I know. It’s why you need me.”

  Ellie felt instant shame. She crossed the kitchen quickly and hugged her friend. “You’re not a bitch. You’re my dearest friend, and you’re saving me from myself.” She stopped and let the words flow. “I’m just scared to death. What if I’m no good? What if he throws me out?”

  “What if? Will Wyatt and the kids stop loving you? I think not. Will your friends find you less wonderful? You know we won’t. Will Sylvie take out an ad in the paper?” Ava cocked her head as if thinking. “Let’s don’t push it.” She grinned. “Now come on. Time’s a-wastin’, girl.”

  “All right, all right. I’m going. You don’t have to drive me,” Ellie muttered. “But when that ad comes out in the paper, you’d better take out a bigger one saying I may be a lousy painter but I make great chocolate chip cookies.”

  “It’s a deal. Call me from the hospital after Saxon finishes with you.”

  “Very funny.”

  Waving over her shoulder, Ava left. Ellie gathered up her gear and her courage and left right behind her.

  * * *

  Luisa pulled up in front of McCallum High School, glancing across the car at her youngest son. Most days she could ignore his resemblance to his father, but lately the petulant frowns, bordering on sneers, had begun to remind her all too well that though her older son was Ramon’s namesake, this one, her last, her baby, was growing into disturbing signs of his father’s temperament.

  “I hope you have a good day.”

  Only a grunt acknowledged her. Hands already on the doorknob, Carlito was poised for escape. Hesitant but desperate to make contact, Luisa laid a hand on his shoulder. “Carlito, please…”

  “Carlos. I’m not a baby,” he grated.

  That voice. So deep. In body, he was becoming a man, if still reed-slender. She bit at her lower lip, wanting to turn back the clock to the little boy who was her pride, her heart.

  “I know you’re not, Carli—Carlos.” She made the effort, though the word stumbled awkwardly from her tongue. “Please—” Why am I begging this petulant man-child? It had only encouraged his father to continue as a bully. Luisa straightened. “I’ll see you after band practice.”

  “I’ll get a ride.” He was halfway out of the car.

  “With whom?”

  “What does it matter? I’ll be home for supper, as ordered. Surely you can trust me that much.”

  “Carlito—Carlos—” She stared into the face of an angry stranger. “It’s not about trust—”

  “No, Mama?” His mouth, once prone to wide, eager smiles, curled in a sneer. “Then what is it, exactly? I’m in goddamn high school—”

  “Don’
t you curse at me, young man—”

  He cursed again, under his breath. “I could quit school in a few months. I’ll be of age. You won’t be able to stop me.” He pulled away, beginning to close the door.

  “Carlos,” Luisa hated hearing herself beg. But she could not lose this last child. “Please don’t—” A horn sounded behind them. The door swung closer, narrowing the opening. “Please—all right. Get your ride home. Let’s talk this evening. I’ll make your favorite.”

  He grunted again. “Sure, Mama. Whatever.” He closed the door and turned away.

  Luisa watched him go, lean shoulders hunched in imitation of the others. Witnessed an enactment of all her fears as her brightest child turned into a product of a barrio he’d never inhabited, into the lowest common denominator. Into a parody of his father, who had once seemed romantic to Luisa. Once, she’d had visions that the love of a good woman could turn Ramon into a prince, could make his insides resemble his handsome exterior.

  The horn blared again. Another joined it.

  Heart too chilled to let loose the tears she ached to shed, Luisa put the car into gear and headed toward the only part of her life that made any sense.

  * * *

  “Hello, Laken Foster.”

  She turned, coming out of the locker room to face the owner of that baritone voice. “Gabe,” she answered with real pleasure. She took in his crisp white shirt, the double-breasted charcoal suit hanging beautifully, as always, on a frame that belied his nearness to sixty. “How are you? Already finished with your workout, I see.”

  “And you must not have court today, or you wouldn’t be here at this hour.” He smiled, but his gray eyes held shadows. Six feet tall, he only topped Laken a few inches, but Gabriel Winthrop III had an air of command no one could deny. Though his suits likely cost thousands and he could easily afford a personal trainer to come to him, there had always been something very real about Gabe. He was equally at home in jeans and Savile Row suits.

  Laken liked him immensely. He was good to Sylvie, and good for her. She wanted to figure out what was going on.

  “No court for me today. I pulled a string of all-nighters the last couple of weeks of the Danforth trial, so I’m taking it slower this week.”

  “Making partner took some heat off you, didn’t it?”