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

by Jean Brashear

  But she still felt that she was living on borrowed time. Every day, her mother slipped farther away; every day, it hurt. If Sylvie ever found out that she shared that fate, she’d just have to vanish, since she’d already failed to resist him when in the same city. Walk away and save Gabe from his own generous heart. She could never claim to love him and make him endure watching her slip away, becoming a stranger as Margo now was.

  Sylvie knocked again, tired of thinking about it. She’d resolved to live for the moment, to store up memories and to love Gabe fully until she could find the strength to face her fate. She wasn’t there yet. She needed him too much, had too much lost time to make up.

  “Hey, Sylvie,” Saxon greeted, opening the door.

  My word. Ellie must be rubbing off on him. The man was actually smiling. Well, a little.

  “Is this a bad time? May I come in?”

  “Go ahead. I’m not working right now.”

  “It would be so nice, darling, if you’d just get a phone.”

  “You sound like Ellie.” An odd note crept into his voice.

  “Living like the rest of us isn’t all bad, you know.”

  He shrugged and walked across the room. Waited for her reaction to the painting on his easel.

  She couldn’t speak. Saxon’s work had always been powerful, but she’d never seen this kind of passion in it before. Something else, too…something…

  Tenderness. That was it. A touch of softness that had never been present before.

  Ellie’s influence. Had to be. She glanced up to see him looking back with a trace of an uncertainty she’d never seen in him.

  “I’m…surprised.”

  His voice went harsh. “What does that mean?”

  “It means, darling, that this is unique. Your work has changed.”

  “I knew it,” he said savagely. “Something’s wrong. I can’t figure out what it is.”

  Sylvie was afraid she could, but she hoped she was wrong. She tiptoed around the subject. “It’s not wrong, Saxon. It’s magnificent. There’s a subtlety, a new depth, as though you’re touching a new part of yourself.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Sylvie shrugged negligently. “Have it your way. You always do. But I want this in the gallery the minute it’s finished.”

  He looked startled. “You do?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “It might not…I may keep it for myself.”

  Her heart clenched in warning. The woman in the picture bore a slight physical resemblance to Ellie that could be mistaken. But her spirit was definitely there, infusing every stroke. Suddenly, Sylvie was afraid. For both of them.

  Maybe it was better if he kept it. If it hung in the gallery, someone else might notice what she hoped she was imagining.

  Meanwhile, what did she do, if she were right? And was this her fault? She’d never dreamed the two of them, so different, would—

  “Something wrong?”

  She shook her head quickly. “No—of course not. I’m merely disappointed. It’s exquisite, but our agreement allows you to keep some of your work. I can see why you’d want this. But if you change your mind, I’ll buy it for myself if you don’t want it going to someone unknown.”

  “It stays with me.” His expression dared her to comment.

  “May I see what Ellie’s doing?”

  He looked uneasy. “I don’t know…”

  “Was I wrong? Is she not working out?”

  Saxon almost visibly withdrew into a shell. “She’s fine. And her work is good.”

  Sylvie strolled over to the easel across the room. “I don’t think she’ll mind.” Besides, she had to know, had to see if Ellie’s work confirmed her worries—or put them to rest.

  With fingers just slightly shaky, Sylvie pulled the cover away.

  And her heart both soared and sank like a stone.

  Ellie’s work was already good enough to go in the gallery. She’d made progress beyond anything Sylvie had dreamed. She was good, truly as good as Sylvie had expected.

  She was also in trouble.

  She’d broken free, all right, at least here. The painting revealed a capacity for passion Ellie had never revealed by word or deed. Sylvie felt almost like a voyeur, seeing the mingling of longing and aching and desire that etched the couple in the painting. There was power here, and anger, too—not the bold, overwhelming power of Saxon’s work, but a force to be reckoned with, nonetheless. The slice of a stiletto rather than the arc of a sword.

  She dropped the cover and whirled. “What’s going on here, Saxon? What do you think you’re doing with her?”

  He looked startled, and it was then that she knew. Neither of them had admitted the attraction, maybe not even to themselves.

  “What do you mean?” Slightly belligerent.

  She couldn’t let this go. Too much was at stake. “You’re not here to seduce her. You’re supposed to be teaching her to paint. Period.”

  “Don’t talk about Ellie like that. She loves her family.”

  “But you’re attracted, aren’t you?”

  The Viking god appeared, his glare forbidding.

  “Don’t try to deny it—I can see it in your work. In hers, too.”

  “No.” He shook his head vehemently. “It can’t be. She’s done nothing, said nothing. She would never—”

  “Make sure that it stays that way. You think I’m difficult now, you just try wrecking Ellie’s marriage.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Sylvie. I can take my work anywhere.”

  “This has nothing to do with your work or our business relationship. I’ll cut out your heart if you hurt her, Saxon. Don’t you think that I won’t. And I’m not the only one.”

  “Stop overreacting. It’s all in your head. Ellie and I are just friends.”

  More shaken than she cared to admit, Sylvie pinned him with one more glare before leaving. “See that it stays that way, Saxon. I mean it.”

  “You don’t give Ellie enough credit,” Saxon shot back. “None of you do. No one sees how strong she is, or how brave.”

  “You can overpower her, just as you do everyone. But she deserves better.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” His eyes were bleak. “Go on. Stop worrying. Nothing’s happened. Nothing will.” Saxon turned away and busied himself cleaning a brush.

  Sylvie left, wondering what, if anything, she could do to stop the train wreck she saw coming.

  And prayed with everything in her she was wrong.

  * * *

  “I’ve been a huge fan since your first book, Ava. Your heroes are to die for. Mack McKade, especially. Oooh,” the woman shivered. “He is so hot.”

  The earnest gaze held her own, and Ava couldn’t have held back her grin of delight if her life had depended on it. “You’re so wonderful to say that. He’s a real favorite of mine, too.” Then remembering herself, she planted a seed. “But wait until you meet Dan Coltrane in my new book, Down and Dirty.”

  “Yeah?” the woman’s voice rose. “What’s he like?”

  “Arrogant and sexy and just waiting to take the fall,” Ava smiled. “He makes Mack look pretty tame.”

  The woman patted her hand against her heart. “Oh, my. I can’t wait. How long before it’s out?”

  Ava’s PR escort intervened. “I’m sorry, but Ava has to make another event this afternoon, and there are still people behind you.”

  The woman looked embarrassed. Ava touched the back of her hand. “I’m really sorry. I wish I could stay to chat.” And she meant it. This was the reward for all those hours alone, much more than the checks were. She loved her characters and her stories and delighted in discussing them with people who cared about them, too.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just so thrilled to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is mine.” Ava smiled. “So how shall I make this out?”

  “My name is Jenny.” She spelled it out.

  Ava finished signing and handed the book back. “Thank you so much for sto
pping by, Jenny. I hope to see you next time.”

  “Oh, you will. I wouldn’t miss it. And I’ll bring friends. They’ll like you, too.”

  Jenny turned away, and Ava spoke up. “Jenny?”

  She turned back, eyebrows lifted.

  “Coltrane will be out next year. But first comes THE VIGIL in August, and Quinn holds a very special place in my heart.”

  Jenny smiled. “I’ll be first in line.”

  Ava gave her a parting smile that reflected her delight. “Thank you—more than I can say. You take care now.” Then she turned to the next woman, and felt the rush once more when the woman began to discuss the part in Ava’s last book that had made her cry.

  She’d never been so exhausted, Ava thought. But every second of it was worth it to hear words like this. She just wished she could have it all on tape for the hard days. It made missing Tom easier to bear.

  The few hours spent with these women were her reward for countless solitary hours, endless wrangling with editors, and sleeping alone for almost three weeks.

  Ava drew a deep breath and tried not to think about the lonely night ahead.

  * * *

  Sonofabitch.

  Tom hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, staring around his office but not really seeing it.

  Then he laughed and banged his fist on the desk.

  Hot damn. The Briscoe case.

  He’d never thought to have this chance again, thought his days of landmark cases were over. He’d even thought it didn’t matter because he actually liked trying to make lawyers with a conscience out of corporate attorneys-to-be.

  But center stage beckoned, singing a sweet siren song, giving him one more chance to be the firebrand again, maybe to make new law, to rise up and make a nation face its conscience.

  Tom rocketed forward in his chair, grabbing for the phone. Where was Ava right now? She’d eat this up. She’d understand what it meant, better than anyone. He scrabbled through his center drawer, looking for the itinerary. It didn’t matter where he had to track her down; she had to be the first to know.

  I’m back in the game, love. One more shot at the title.

  Finally, he found the piece of paper and scanned it quickly, then glanced at his watch.

  Oh, hell. She was in flight, headed for Minneapolis. Wouldn’t be there for four more hours. All he could do was leave her a message, which wasn’t even vaguely satisfying.

  Tom hung up, then stared off for a minute, disappointment stealing the shine from his big moment. No one else would exult with him the way she would. He wanted to race home to tell her, to see the sparkle flare in her eyes, to grab her and whirl her around the room and discuss all the complications of this case in minute detail.

  Instead, a dark, empty house awaited him.

  Grayson was on a ski trip. Siobhan wasn’t her mother, but she was better than no one. He punched in her number from memory.

  “Siobhan Sinclair.”

  “Honey, do you have a minute?”

  “Is something wrong, Daddy? Is Mom okay?”

  “She’s fine—at least she was when we talked last night.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Headed to Minneapolis.”

  “Are you okay without her? Can I do anything?”

  Tom smiled. “No, sweetheart. I’m not helpless, you know.”

  “As long as the microwave exists and all the restaurants don’t go out of business,” she teased.

  He laughed.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Yeah. I got this incredible new case, and your mother wasn’t here and I just had to tell someone.”

  “You miss her a lot, don’t you? I wish she didn’t have to be gone so long.”

  That wasn’t the point, but he realized that his daughter couldn’t be expected to know what this meant. She’d been little when he was arguing landmark cases and fighting guerrilla battles against a callous government or a majority blinded by prejudice.

  Never mind. She meant well, and she cared, but she’d never see it like Ava. Damn it, he wanted to talk to her right now. “It’s okay, honey. What she’s doing is necessary to promote her books. It’s all part of the game.”

  “You really don’t mind?”

  Right now I sure do. “No, I’m happy for her. Really.”

  “Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry, but someone’s here for an appointment. I’m glad about your case, if you are.”

  Tom gave in gracefully. “Thank you, sweetie.”

  “I’m glad she has less than a week left. You two are best when you’re together.”

  “Don’t worry about us, Siobhan. We’ll be fine. Take care.”

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  “Same here, sweetheart.” He replaced the receiver and stared at the wall again, oddly deflated on this red-letter day. Oh, well. Ava would call back later. Tom shrugged and pulled out a legal pad to make notes about how to proceed.

  The intercom line buzzed. “Tom, it’s Dr. Martinez on line one. Can you take the call?”

  Luisa. He’d tell Luisa. She wasn’t Ava, but she’d see that this case was important.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Baxter.” He punched line one. “Hey, Luisa, how are you?”

  “I’m all right, thank you. You sound excited.”

  “I am. I just got called to be lead counsel on the Briscoe case.”

  Luisa gasped audibly. “Tom, that’s terrific—what an honor!”

  Tom smiled and leaned back in his chair, delighted that someone understood. “It’s a touch-and-go case, a dead lock to lose and almost impossible to win.”

  She laughed. “Right up your alley, huh?”

  Tom chuckled. “I didn’t know I was that transparent.”

  “Give me a break. Your middle name ought to be Don Quixote. Is Ava excited?”

  “I can’t reach her. She’s in transit, and it will be late tonight at the earliest before I can tell her.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible.” She paused for a moment, then spoke again. “Would you like to catch a quick dinner to celebrate? I’m no substitute for Ava, but I’d love to get the inside scoop about it. We could invite Laken—she’d understand the subtleties better than I would.”

  “No, thank you. Laken and I are like oil and water. But yeah—let’s grab a quick bite. When are you free?”

  “I could meet you somewhere in about an hour.”

  “Tell you what—I’ll pick you up. We’ll hit Bertram’s.”

  “Okay, but I’m buying. You’re the local hero.”

  “We’ll fight over the check later. Meanwhile, why did you call?”

  “Oh—” She hesitated. “Sorry. I forgot I’m the one who called. I just needed to see if you’re free next week to meet, but with this case, maybe you want to pull back on your involvement with the project.”

  “No, I don’t want to do that. If I have to, I will, but let’s wait and see how it shakes out. I need to schedule some meetings on this case, though. Can I tell you tomorrow or Friday how my schedule looks?”

  “Sure thing. So you’ll be here in an hour?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Congratulations, Tom. It’s really a coup. I’m very happy for you.”

  “Thanks, Luisa. See you soon.” Tom hung up and smiled. The day brightened with the prospect of having Luisa’s company instead of a dark, empty house.

  He pulled the yellow pad closer and began making notes.

  * * *

  Late that night, the phone rang. Dead to the world after one too many margaritas, Tom fumbled to answer. “’lo?” he mumbled.

  “Tom? Are you all right? Is anything wrong with the kids?”

  He squinted at the clock. Two a.m. Raking fingers through his hair, he tried to shake the cobwebs. “Unh—no. They’re fine. I’m fine.”

  “But the message said no matter when I got in, and you don’t sound right. You sure you’re okay?” Worry threaded through her voice.

  He sat up straighter and leaned aga
inst the headboard. “I’m really all right, just asleep.”

  “I’m sorry. The plane was delayed, then the local sales rep just had to take me to dinner even though I only wanted room service and my bed and then he wanted to hit on me—”

  “Sonofabitch,” he growled. It sounded like tears in her voice. “Are you all right?”

  Ava sniffed, then blew her nose. “Yeah. Stupid jerk. I can’t afford to tick him off, but I wanted to slap him so bad—”

  I hate this. But he didn’t say it. He wanted to be with her or for her to be here. He wanted to punch the guy’s lights out, wanted to tell her to hell with the damn books, that he needed her here in this bed with him, to lie spooned together and whisper into the night. He hated knowing their future only held more of the same.

  But he said none of this because she wanted to succeed so badly and he wanted to help her. Instead, he tried to focus on her, on how she felt. “But you made it out in one piece and made him feel like a shit, too, just by being a lady, didn’t you?”

  Her laugh was watery. “Yeah, I guess I did. I sure hope so.”

  It hit Ava hard, how much she wanted to be there right then. “Oh, Tom, I miss you so much.”

  His voice was rough. “Me, too.”

  Unspoken but powerful was the knowledge that she could change things, just by settling for things the way they’d been. Tom had to know it, too. What price was she extracting with her ambition?

  Then she remembered that it was he who’d left the message. “If nothing’s wrong, do you have good news?”

  “We can talk about it later. You’re exhausted, I can hear it.”

  She was exhausted. She had four hours before she had to make a radio appearance. But she couldn’t bear to cut the connection. “I’m all right. Tell me what’s happening.”

  “I’m back in action, babe.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A case. A big one.” Excitement flared in his voice.

  “What kind?”

  “A potentially landmark gender discrimination decision. A woman named Florence Briscoe.”

  He sounded like Tom from twenty-five years before, her firebrand whose passion had made him so sexy and irresistible she’d been unable to keep her hands off him.