by Lori Wilde
“Sounds fine. I’ll be ready.”
“And I’ll drive you to the wedding tomorrow. June eighteenth. Does that date ring a bell?”
“No. I—oh, shoot!”
He chuckled. “Isn’t it usually the man who forgets things like wedding anniversaries? Eight years tomorrow, if we’d made it that far.”
“Well, all I can do is wish Brady and Ellie better luck with that date than we had.”
“Something tells me there’s more to it than luck.”
“Maybe so.” It was time to change the subject. “Anyway, I’m glad you made it back in time for the dinner. I’ll see you later.”
Tracy ended the call. She already knew what she was going to wear. Like the wedding shower, the rehearsal dinner would have a casual western theme. Most of the women would be in jeans. But she’d been dying to wear the new sundress she’d bought—deep blue and dotted with clusters of tiny red and yellow flowers. The bodice was cut low in front and the waist tightly fitted, with a flaring skirt that just covered her knees. With dangling silver earrings and red sandals, she would feel confident and sexy—even with a glow-orange fiberglass cast on her right arm.
She checked the time on her computer. She had forty-five minutes to spend researching her current court case. That would give her half an hour to do her hair and makeup and change into the sundress. Everything took longer when she had to do it left-handed. She was learning to give herself extra time.
But right now she had work to do. Shifting her focus away from Linc and the evening ahead, she brought up a file on her computer and began to read.
* * *
Linc had paid to keep the red convertible on hold at the rental agency and it had been waiting for him when he walked out of the airport terminal. Now, after checking into his hotel and changing into jeans and a western shirt, he was on his way to pick up Tracy.
He had high hopes for the evening: a tasty meal, good company, and a leisurely drive home under the Texas stars with Tracy at his side. If he played his cards right, he wouldn’t be kissing her good night at the door or sleeping on her couch. He’d be living the fantasy that had been torturing his libido all week.
Still, the thought of what could go wrong was enough to make him sweat. Everything depended on timing—and on the treasure that rested in its protective case, locked in the trunk of the car. His last bottle of Pappy Van Winkle had made the trip from Lexington. He would give it to Chet Bertelson to pay off the bet and buy his freedom.
If his plan was to work, three things had to happen. First, Chet would have to be at the rehearsal dinner. Second, Linc would need a chance to get the little jerk alone to pay off the bet. Third, Tracy mustn’t ever find out, or even suspect, what he’d done.
Wishing himself luck, he pulled up to Tracy’s condo, pocketed the car keys, walked to the porch, and rang her doorbell.
No one came to the door.
Linc rang the bell again and waited. Maybe Tracy was in the bathroom and couldn’t hear him.
He waited a little longer. What if she’d fallen and hurt herself? Or what if somebody had broken in? Prepared to smash the door down if necessary, he tried the knob.
The door was unlocked.
His pulse raced as he walked in and closed the door behind him. “Tracy!” he called at the foot of the stairs. “Are you all right?”
“More or less!” Her voice came from upstairs. She seemed to be laughing. “But I could use a little help. Come on up.”
With a breath of relief, Linc hurried up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom. In the doorway he stopped, as if he’d just been ambushed.
Tracy stood on the rug next to the bed, an embarrassed smile on her face. She looked ready to leave for dinner, except for her dress. Held against her chest by her left hand, it hung loose from her shoulders and sagged at the waist. Only when she turned around, revealing the wide-open back, did Linc realize why she needed him.
“I can’t zip my dress.” Her voice was slightly breathless. “Could you give me a hand?”
“No problem.” He walked over to where she stood. Her lovely back was one long, bare line, with no bra. At the base of the zipper opening, he glimpsed the edge of naughty little black lace panties. Except for the dress, she appeared to be wearing nothing else.
Close up, her sensual, womanly aroma dizzied his senses. Beneath his jeans, his erection was already rock hard. He took a deep breath and fumbled for the dress’s zipper tab. Later tonight the dress would also need to be unzipped, Linc reminded himself. What followed would come naturally. He could wait that long, couldn’t he?
As he inched the zipper tab upward, his hand brushed the satiny skin of her back. A little moan escaped her lips. She wanted him to touch her. The awareness slammed into him, sending him over the brink.
Abandoning the zipper, he ran his thumbs up the hollow of her spine. His splayed fingers moved around her ribs to cup her small, firm breasts. The nipples were swollen like summer raspberries. He stroked them, letting the wild sensations build. She arched her back, responding to his touch with little purring sounds.
“Oh, Linc . . .” Her voice was a lusty whisper. The dress fell around her hips and slid down her legs to the floor. He pulled her in against him, kissing the nape of her neck and the hollow of her shoulder. One hand moved down over her hip, fingers finding and lifting the lace band of her panties. She gasped as he found her wet cleft and stroked her—knowing exactly how she liked it—until she shuddered against his hand.
Even then, it might not have been too late to stop; but Linc was already yanking down his jeans and rolling on the condom he’d tucked in the pocket. Taking care to keep her cast out of the way, they fell across the bed. Aching with need, he peeled away the fragile panties, parted her willing legs, and came home—to where he’d wanted to be for five long years.
Their lovemaking was like a long-remembered dance. But they were different people now, older, stronger, and scarred with the pain of being apart. They knew who they were and what they wanted. Sex had always been good between them, but this time it was better than ever, ending in a climax that shook them to the depths of their souls.
Only when it was over and he was lying on top of her, kissing her laughing face, did the full implications hit home.
He had just won the bet.
And he was in big trouble.
* * *
Fifty-five minutes later, glowing and slightly rumpled, they walked into the converted barn where the rehearsal dinner was being held. The guests were still mingling, some sipping drinks and visiting, others filling their plates from the buffet and sitting down at the long family-style tables.
Linc’s gaze scanned the room, searching for the stocky figure of Chet Bertelson. He spotted the man halfway across the large room, standing at the bar with a beer in his hand. He was looking around, too. Maybe they both had the same idea.
Linc had done some quick thinking on the drive to the ranch. He could care less about three years’ worth of ribs. And he’d already planned on parting company with the bourbon. The one thing he couldn’t risk was exposing Tracy to hurt and humiliation—which could happen if Chet opened his big mouth.
Linc felt his gut tighten as Chet made eye contact with him. He raised an eyebrow, a silent signal that he’d gotten the message. They would talk later.
He might have won the bet, but winning wouldn’t matter if he lost the woman of his dreams. As a sporting man, Linc took pride in never having made a dishonest wager. But tonight there was only one thing he could do.
Lie through his miserable teeth.
He and Tracy had agreed not to hang out together at the rehearsal dinner. Their rekindled romance was still too fragile and too private to parade in public. She had already left his side to greet some friends, who were exclaiming over the cast on her arm.
She was a sexy vision in the blue sundress he’d finally managed to zip her into. He loved the way it clung to her tiny waist and the way the skirt moved with her legs as sh
e walked. Her auburn hair curled over her shoulders. Her silver earrings caught the light from the Mason jar chandelier above her head. If he could make her his again, he would never get tired of just looking at her.
He watched her until she disappeared, blending into the crowd. Then, with a careful glance around, he ambled across the room to stand a few feet away from Chet.
“You two looked pretty cozy coming in.” Chet had moved close enough to speak in a low voice. “Are you here to tell me you’ve already won the bet?”
“Nope.” Linc kept his gaze straight ahead. “I came to tell you that I’ve lost. It isn’t going to happen. The lady isn’t interested.”
“No shit!”
“You heard me. I’d just as soon not drag this out any longer. I’ve got your Pappy Van Winkle in the trunk of my car. You can have it tonight—on two conditions.”
“We didn’t talk about conditions.” Chet’s voice had taken on a whine, like a dog begging for a treat held just out of reach.
“Maybe not,” Linc said. “But if you want that bourbon tonight, give me your word you’ll put it in your car, take it home, and not show it off. I don’t want anybody to know where it came from or how you got it. Understand?”
“Hell, what’s the fun of that?”
“This isn’t about fun. It’s about making sure Tracy doesn’t know we made the damned bet.” Linc lowered his voice. “Look, I don’t have to pay off until Brady and Ellie leave tomorrow. You could still lose; you never know. I’m giving you a chance to collect now, in exchange for keeping your mouth shut.”
Chet’s mouth widened in a knowing grin. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “All right, I’ll play along. How do you want to work this?”
Linc spoke just above a whisper. “When you’re ready, go out to the parking lot. Pull up alongside the red Mercedes convertible I drove here and wait in your vehicle. When I know the coast is clear, I’ll come outside and give you the bourbon. You put it away and we go back inside separately, like nothing happened. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“And not a word or I’ll make you regret it.”
“Don’t worry.” Chet made the X sign over his lips. “See you outside. Don’t take too long.” He finished his beer and sauntered toward the front door.
Linc took his time, sipping from a can of Mexican beer he’d picked up at the bar. Scanning the guests, he could see Tracy at one of the tables, eating and talking with a young couple. Her back was toward him. Now was as good a time as any.
Linc left the beer on one of the tables and meandered toward the exit. With a final glance to make sure Tracy wasn’t watching, he slipped outside.
By now the evening sunset had faded to dusk. The barn cast a long shadow across the open ground that served as a parking lot for the event. There were about thirty vehicles, mostly pickups and SUVs, parked in loose rows. Linc had no trouble locating the red convertible, which he’d left on the far side of the lot, away from the entrance. A black pickup was parked next to it, in a spot that had been empty when he’d arrived with Tracy. That would be Chet.
Taking his time and humming along with the music that drifted from the barn, he walked toward the truck.
* * *
Tracy was enjoying the dinner and the company of her friends. But she’d overused her arm today. Beneath the cast, her wrist was throbbing, the pain was getting worse.
The over-the-counter meds she’d been taking were in her purse, which she’d left locked inside Linc’s car. If she didn’t take something for the pain in her wrist, she’d be miserable for the rest of the night.
There was nothing to do but find Linc, borrow his keys, and get her purse out of the car. Excusing herself, she got up from the table. She’d noticed him talking to Chet earlier, near the bar. He had to be somewhere close by. But after minutes of searching the room, she couldn’t see him anywhere.
Maybe he was in the restroom. She glanced down the hallway toward the door to the barn’s single unisex bathroom. The door opened. A middle-aged woman came out. There was no sign of Linc.
She decided to ask the young woman tending bar. “I’m looking for my friend,” she said. “He’s very tall, and—”
“Tall and drop-dead gorgeous? If that’s the guy you mean, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off him. He went outside a few minutes ago.”
“Thanks.” Tracy hurried toward the front door. Maybe Linc had needed something out of the car, too. Whatever it was, she couldn’t get her purse without his keys.
It was dark outside, but not too dark to see her way. When she didn’t find Linc near the barn, she headed for the far corner of the lot, where he’d left the car.
She was partway there when she heard voices—one of them Linc’s, the other familiar, though she couldn’t place it. An instant later she saw a light—the kind that would come on when a car’s trunk was opened.
What was going on? Had Linc caught somebody breaking into his car?
Heart pounding, she crept closer. A big SUV was parked near Linc’s car. She ducked behind it and peered around the front end.
Linc was lifting a shoebox-sized wooden case out of the trunk. “Here you are.” He held it out to a man who stood with his back toward Tracy. “You won the bet fair and square. Enjoy.”
“Wow! All mine!” Tracy recognized Chet’s voice and stocky frame. “I’m still amazed you couldn’t get your ex-wife into the sack. I could’ve sworn you two had the hots for each other.”
Tracy’s jaw dropped. Was this what it sounded like? Had Linc really bet he could have sex with her? Or maybe that he couldn’t?
Either way, she could feel her anger boiling up like hot lava in a volcano.
Chapter Six
Crouched behind the SUV, Tracy could scarcely believe her eyes and ears. She didn’t understand everything that was going on, but she understood enough. She’d been the subject of an unthinkable wager—and she’d been cruelly played by the man she’d just begun to trust again.
“So we’re done here.” Linc closed the trunk. “The bet’s paid off and I have your promise you won’t say a word about it.”
“Hold your horses a doggone minute.” Chet hefted the box in his hands. He held it close to his ear and gave it a careful shake. “Before I let you off the hook, I want to make sure this is the real McCoy.”
Setting the box on top of the trunk, he unfastened the catch and raised the lid. A satisfied grin spread across his homely face. “Oh, yeah . . . that looks like Pappy Van Winkle all right.” He lifted the bottle from its packing and held it up to the little light that remained. “You wouldn’t pull a fast one on me, would you? Maybe I ought to taste it just to make sure.”
“I wouldn’t advise that,” Linc said. “If you drink out of the bottle, you’re liable to backwash and contaminate the bourbon. It won’t be worth much after that, except for you to drink.”
“Hell, I was just gonna drink it anyway.” Chet gripped the bottle with one hand. The other hand twisted the top, straining to break the tight seal. He was still trying when Tracy walked into the open.
* * *
Linc groaned at the sight of her. Right now, Tracy was the last person on earth he wanted to see.
She faced him like a warrior queen, fury in every inch of her posture and murder in her eyes.
“Tracy, I can explain—” he began.
“Don’t bother.” She cut him off. “I’ve heard enough to know what’s been going on. You used me—used me—to make a bet! That’s got to be a new low, even for you!”
“I was just—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuse, Linc. I’m still in shock. But why should I be surprised? Everything’s always been about you and the thrill of winning! And you never care who you hurt! I never want to see you again.”
“Just listen to me, Tracy.” He put out a calming hand, which she ignored. He was dimly aware of Chet watching, openmouthed. “It’s true, I was stupid. I made a bet. But so help me, I lost! I was paying it off!”
/> “Here’s what I think of you and your stupid bet!” With a lightning move, she snatched the bourbon from Chet’s hands. Caught off guard, neither man had time to stop her as she hurled the bottle in an arc over the nearest line of parked vehicles. Coming down, it struck the bumper of a truck and shattered in an explosion of glass shards and 23 Reserve Pappy Van Winkle. Within seconds, the precious liquid had soaked into the earth.
Stunned speechless, Linc stared at his ex-wife. He’d seen some shocking things in his day, but this was in a class by itself. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Chet was groaning. “That’s not fair,” he whined. “You owe me another bottle.”
Linc found his voice. “I don’t owe you a damned thing. You had the bottle. If you hadn’t been so all-fired anxious to open it, this wouldn’t have happened. We’re done here.”
Slinking away like a whipped dog, Chet took the empty box, climbed into his pickup, drove to a spot on the far side of the parking lot, and went back inside the barn. He would no doubt spread the story; it was too juicy to keep to himself. But that didn’t matter anymore.
As Chet’s taillights disappeared, Linc turned to face his ex-wife. Now that he’d found her again, the thought of losing her a second time was as bleak as a prison sentence. Watching her fling that bottle of near-priceless bourbon—damn it, that had been the perfect thing to do. She was magnificent.
He took a step toward her. “Tracy—”
Her icy expression stopped him. “I’d ask you how you could do something so despicable, but I really don’t care to know. Get my purse out from under the seat. I’ll be taking a cab home. Once Hero’s donation is settled and the paperwork is signed, I never want to hear from you again.”
Linc felt as if he were drowning and had lost his life preserver. Somehow he had to keep this woman from walking away.
“Be sensible,” he said. “A cab would have to come from town. You’d have to wait for it and it would be a fifty-dollar ride back at least. Let me drive you. We can leave now and I won’t say a word unless you want me to. I promise.”
