Texas Rose

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Ever since the bomb went off, I’m always a little uneasy coming in here.” He looked around at the temporary quarters. “I keep expecting something else to blow up.”

  Flynt dismissed the fear with a shrug of his shoulder. “Bombs never strike twice in the same place.”

  “That’s lightning,” Spence corrected him, “and it does.”

  Picking up the new menu, Tyler opened it. “Well, that goes a long way in reassuring me.”

  “It didn’t have anything to do with you. It wasn’t a random bombing,” Flynt reminded him. “We already found out that bomb was meant for Westin, to keep him from going to Central America on the mission. Sheriff Stone wanted to be sure that no one and nothing interfered with the sweet deal he and that band of henchmen of his had going with El Jefe, remember?”

  Stone, along with the men who were part of a group known to one another as The Lion’s Den, had since been arrested and were awaiting trial. At least one of El Jefe’s tentacles had been lobbed off, but they all knew there were others. A great many others.

  “Stone needn’t have gone through all that trouble,” Tyler observed cynically, “seeing as how someone’s obviously gotten to Westin down there.”

  He tried not to worry about his former commander, but it wasn’t easy. There were regions in Central America where a man could get lost and never be heard from again.

  Trying not to dwell on what he couldn’t do anything about, he turned to look at the honey-blond waitress who had approached their table. Just for a second, there was something vaguely familiar about the young woman, but he dismissed it.

  “Scotch,” he ordered, then turned back to the group. “I take it Westin hasn’t surfaced yet?”

  Spence shook his head. “He’s still missing.” He waited while Flynt ordered a drink and asked for a refill. “Speaking of missing, have either of you heard anything from Luke?”

  “Why?” Tyler asked. “You think he’s the father?”

  The question came out of left field. Spence finished his drink, setting the chunky glass down just as the waitress returned with their orders. “Of who?”

  “The baby Flynt found. Lena. Boy, I thought D.A.’s were supposed to be sharp,” Tyler quipped. “They must have really lowered the standards with you.” His smile faded a little as he looked at Spence more closely. “What’s the matter, Harrison, you look as if you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.” Suspicion gave way to uneasiness. It wasn’t like Spence to look so solemn. “Why did you ask us to meet you here today, anyway?”

  Taking his glass from the waitress, Spence nodded his thanks and took a long sip before answering. He wanted to dull the edge of his concern, just for the moment.

  “To look at your ugly mugs,” he retorted, and then he added more soberly, “and to ask if Luke’s been in touch with either of you.”

  “Not me,” Flynt testified, taking a long sip of his own drink.

  “Me, either,” Tyler added. “I doubt he’s talked to Ricky, either.”

  They all knew that the fifth member of their group, the group that had gone through both the Virginia Military Institute and the Gulf War together, was estranged from them.

  Ricky Mercado’s family had ties to the Texas Mafia via his uncle, who was head of one of the mob families, and his own father, Johnny, who was an unwilling participant, blackmailed into remaining with the mob to protect his family and keep them out of harm’s way. Johnny’s efforts were largely unsuccessful. His wife had been eliminated by the mob as a warning. His son Ricky had apparently succumbed to the lure of the mob, forsaking his former friends because of an argument that had ensued over the death of his sister, Haley, who had drowned while in the company of Luke, Spence, Flynt and Tyler. She had fallen overboard while the four had been intoxicated. They hadn’t even realized she was gone until it was too late. Ricky never forgave his former comrades-in-arms.

  Tyler leaned forward, looking at Spence. “You worried about Luke?”

  “A lot could happen to a man out there,” Spence said, defending his concern. “Look at Westin.”

  It was obvious that they were all trying to maintain positive thoughts about the commander’s situation. “Hey,” Flynt retorted, “despite the fact that the man is richer than God, Callaghan can take care of himself, remember?”

  “That’s what we all said about Westin, too,” Spence reminded them.

  He took out his cell phone again.

  Haley Mercado aka Daisy Parker, Lone Star Country Club waitress, felt her heartbeat as she heard the three men mention her brother Ricky when she served them drinks. They were the same men who had been brought up on negligent homicide charges involving her so-called accidental “death.” She’d only learned of the charges after the fact. By then, she had been in London and had already undergone plastic surgery.

  Staying dead, the circumstances of which she had purposely staged herself, was the only way she had of ensuring that she would remain alive. She’d later discovered that Judge Carl Bridges had arranged for her escape, and had gotten the four men acquitted of all charges.

  It was the judge who had told her about her mother and who had arranged to sneak her into her mother’s hospital room disguised as a nun. It had been the last meeting between mother and daughter. Haley’s mother had passed away that evening. The official diagnosis differed with the truth.

  Isadora Mercado had been smothered.

  The four men at the table hadn’t mentioned Ricky again. They were now talking about Luke. He was missing, according to Spence.

  Fear gripped her heart.

  She hurried away, afraid that one of them might suddenly recognize her, despite the great lengths she had gone to with her disguise. A small part of her felt empowered, to move among them this way without their knowing who she was. But linked to that was fear that one or the other might suddenly look into her eyes and see the young girl they used to know, the tag-along who had been more than half in love with Luke.

  The woman they had almost gone to prison over.

  Damn, but she looked good enough to eat.

  Matt Carson smiled to himself.

  That was the very same thought he’d had about Rose when he’d first walked into the library that day, looking for an old magazine article about horse ranching someone had recommended to him.

  Rose had been behind the centrally placed information desk. When he’d approached feeling very lost, she’d primly asked if she could be of any service.

  He’d kept to himself the answer that had instantly popped up in his mind. She hadn’t looked the type to indulge in risqué repartee. Instead he’d asked her if he could take anything out of the library he wanted. When she’d said yes, he’d asked if he could take her out.

  She’d almost shown him the door, until he’d backtracked and told her about the article. She’d pointed him toward the computer. Faced with trying to use a device he’d religiously steered clear of, Matt had thrown himself on her mercy and asked for help. She’d had no choice but to give it.

  By the time the article had been located and printed, Matt had been completely captivated by her smile, the supple body that moved so sweetly beneath the light-blue dress she’d been wearing, and the scent of jasmine that lingered around her like a seductive cloud, making him almost feel giddy.

  He’d asked her out before ever knowing her name, or she his.

  Discovering she was a Wainwright had momentarily taken him aback, but hadn’t deterred him. After all, what he’d had in mind was to be something strictly casual, a good time for both, nothing more.

  Apparently, discovering that he was Ford Carson’s son had been a definite stumbling block for Rose. She turned down his invitation to dinner, and continued to turn him down each time he’d asked her out, though secretly taken, she later told him, with his determination. Matt began visiting the library on a regular basis, to “browse” and to apply himself to breaking down her defenses.

  Because Rose resisted him—something no other wom
an he’d encountered had ever done—Matt had been completely determined to wear her down.

  Waging a never-ending campaign that lasted for several months had turned out to be worth it.

  God, he thought now, was it ever worth it.

  The first time he’d kissed her, it was to wipe a trickle of vanilla ice cream from the corner of her mouth. That was the excuse he’d given her and his own heart had raced like a young schoolboy’s a moment before his lips met hers.

  She’d tasted like heaven and he’d been completely hooked.

  It wasn’t long after that that they’d made love for the first time, he recalled, remembering everything about the sun-drenched afternoon in the open field. He’d gotten hooked on that, too. Alarmingly so, he now realized.

  Right from the start, he just couldn’t seem to get enough of her, but he’d consoled himself with the fact that this, as everything else, would lose its luster for him. It always had before, though he’d never experienced anything so intense. After all, Rose represented a conquest and when they’d made love, that meant she’d been conquered.

  But something had happened to him during his campaign to set siege to her and storm her ramparts. Matt had become so entrenched, so caught up in trying to win all the game pieces, that he’d lost his way back to his side of the board.

  He’d completely lost himself.

  He wanted to find himself again, to find the man who had loved his freedom more than anything else in the world. The trouble was, he’d ceased to remember what that man looked like.

  Freedom, he was beginning to suspect, was just another term for rootlessness. And a part of him was getting tired of being rootless.

  Matt got up from the dining room table where he’d been taking coffee with a sleepy-eyed Beth, his conversation with the woman halting in midword when Rose emerged from her bedroom.

  He’d never seen Rose wear anything like this back home. She had on a short, wraparound skirt that showed her legs off to their full advantage and a cropped electric-blue blouse that barely covered her midsection.

  The woman was making his mouth water.

  Matt put his half-empty cup down as an afterthought. “You ready?”

  Beth seemed to come to life just then. “Oh, but you can’t leave without having breakfast, dear.” The protest was directed toward Rose. Ada, Beth’s part-time housekeeper, was busy in the kitchen, so Beth leaned across the table to peer into the next room. “Ada, Rose’ll have the eggs.”

  The mention of food, any food, sounded gross. Rose pressed her lips together, sternly telling her stomach to stop lurching.

  “Only if you want to see me juggle them.” Rose did her best to sound cheerful instead of ominously nauseated.

  But Beth insisted, “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

  What was Beth doing? Rose thought in horror. Her aunt knew about her morning sickness.

  “I never eat breakfast,” Rose told her adamantly. “It slows me down.”

  “Can’t have that,” Matt agreed.

  He wanted Rose in the best frame of mind today. Day One of his plan to win her back. Matt took Rose’s hand, but she twisted her fingers out of them.

  “I’ll be your guide, Matt,” she said, “but we need to set a few ground rules. Ground Rule Number One—no touching.”

  After talking to Beth last night, he’d made up his mind that he was going to have to be extremely patient. “What if the bus is crowded?”

  “We’ll be taking cabs. You’ll sit on your side, I’ll sit on mine.” Rose heard him sigh and raised her eyes to his face. “It’s the only way.”

  Matt nodded his head, appearing resigned to the edict, convinced in his heart that he could make her forget about it quickly enough. The woman who’d kissed him on the terrace last night was not going to be able to indefinitely maintain the barriers that were being reconstructed this morning.

  “If that’s the way it’s gotta be, that’s the way it’s gotta be.”

  Matt turned to retrieve his Stetson from the coffee table in the living room where he’d left it last night, and caught Beth’s eye. He winked at her, and Beth smiled conspiratorially.

  They were cooking up something, Rose thought. Well, two could play at this game. And she had more at stake than he did because she was playing for two.

  Picking up her purse from the hall table, she looked at Matt. “Where do you want to go first?”

  Busy studying the curve of her legs, he was temporarily brought up short.

  “I suggested you take him to the top of the Empire State Building,” Beth interjected. “It’s a fantastic view and that’s where King Kong took Fay Wray.”

  “On their last outing together, if I remember correctly,” Rose interjected. “They broke up right after that.”

  Matt vaguely remembered seeing the original version as a little boy. He looked from one woman to the other. “I’m a little slow here. Am I being called a beast?”

  Rose could feel a smile struggling to gain space on her lips, despite her resolve to remain aloof and distant. “I never said a word.”

  Wedging herself between them, Beth threaded an arm through each of theirs as she escorted them to the front door.

  “And after that,” she continued, “you could go to an art museum. It’s an exciting way to spend the afternoon,” she told Matt, “looking at all those paintings by artists who opted to live out their dreams through their choice of paint, putting their passion into their work.” She looked at Rose pointedly.

  Rose met her head-on. “Are you trying to tell me something, Aunt Beth?”

  Beth’s face became a testimony to sheer innocence. “Only to enjoy every moment of life that you can. You’ll never have this minute again.”

  Rose slanted her eyes toward Matt. “There’s something to be said for that.”

  “If you’re trying to hurt my feelings, I’ve got a tough hide.” Now that his mind was made up, she would have to do a lot better than that to make him back off and go home.

  The comment broadened the playing field for the smile Rose was having no success at blocking. As she remembered it, his hide wasn’t all that tough. It was hard, and strong, with contoured muscles he’d earned while putting in twelve-hour days in the saddle, but it definitely wasn’t tough. Not to the touch.

  Abruptly, she stopped and upbraided herself for letting her mind wander.

  “Have fun, you two,” Beth said, all but pushing them out the door.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” he whispered against Rose’s ear as they walked out.

  His breath wound its way into her senses as it caressed the delicate skin along her neck.

  It was best all around if he hadn’t a clue as to what she was thinking, Rose thought. Actually, it was best if she wasn’t thinking at all.

  They got into the elevator and as Matt reached out to push the button for the ground floor, his hand brushed her breast. Rose backed away as if he’d burned her.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking as if it had been a genuine accident on his part rather than anything he might have calculated.

  She shrugged as if it was okay. But it wasn’t.

  It was hard not to remember everything she had felt for Matt while standing beside him in a small box swiftly making its way down twenty floors to the lobby.

  Especially since she was still feeling it.

  Seven

  The moment they stepped onto the street, they were engulfed in a sea of people.

  It wasn’t difficult for Matt to imagine how a person could very easily be swept away. Scanning both sides of the street, he noted hordes of cars cluttering the roads and packs of people on corners either waiting for the lights to change or pushing their way across to the other side, fighting both pedestrians and vehicles trying to make turns.

  He’d never seen so much life stuffed into such a small area—and that included corrals at branding time.

  Because he was unaccustomed to the noise level, Matt leaned his head in closer to Ro
se.

  “How many people did you say this city has?”

  She shifted slightly, not wanting to be distracted by his breath along her skin. She was aware enough of him as it was.

  “I didn’t,” she pointed out. She looked around, debating her first step. “About eight million, I think.”

  “Are they all out on the street right now?”

  Last night when his plane had finally landed at JFK, he’d been focused on finding Beth’s apartment and had noticed very little of anything else. He’d made his way out of the terminal to find a fleet of cabs waiting for his selection and ultimate direction. Taking the first vehicle at the curb, Matt had given the driver Beth’s address, which he’d obtained through no small pains, and been dropped off at her apartment building.

  There could have been a flock of penguins dressed in eighteenth-century regalia standing in the lobby and he probably wouldn’t have noticed them. Rehearsing what he’d say and trying to keep his feelings under wraps had left little space in his brain for noticing anything.

  Now, however, the amount of teeming humanity that crowded the streets of New York at any one time was beginning to sink in.

  “No,” Rose answered, straight-faced. “They’re not all out now.”

  And then she laughed, remembering her own first reaction to the city. Ten years old, she’d been dumb-struck by the wonder of it all. It had been summer then, too. But somehow the mugginess of it hadn’t registered. It was the summer that Aunt Beth had returned to Mission Creek for a visit.

  Before she’d left, she’d offered to take one of them to New York with her for a month. Susan had been too young and Justin had had no interest in the city. She’d been the only one who’d been curious enough to volunteer.

  It had been like a trip into wonderland. Beth had taken her to the theater, to the museums and the Village, ensuring she experienced all the culture that New York had to offer. She smiled at the memory.