Texas Heroes: Volume 1

by Jean Brashear

  Dev clasped her slender shoulders. “Don’t, Mom. It’s over. You’re doing well, and that’s all that matters.” What was done was done…and his own emotions were stretched too thin to have this discussion after last night.

  After Lacey.

  He wasn’t ready to rehash the past. Not now. Not when he still carried the feel of Lacey’s slim hand in his, when those silvery eyes wouldn’t let him sleep.

  “I still don’t understand it. The Patrick I knew was no crook. He was so angry, so hurt, so—” She looked up at her son, blue eyes swimming with pain. “It literally killed him, the disgrace.”

  “He had a weak heart, Mom. He was under a lot of stress.” With the Securities and Exchange Commission findings of fraud, his father’s whole career had been on the line. Even if he’d escaped conviction, he’d never have worked in a high-powered accounting firm like DeMille & Marshall again.

  She gripped his sleeve. “But do you believe he did it?”

  Dev was too tired for this discussion. Too many years had passed, and he’d been so young. All he’d known was that his father was dead, that with shocking suddenness, their expansive lifestyle had crashed around them. No more soccer games. No more vacations. Only the grim struggle to survive.

  Only the shame.

  But his mother’s gaze still pinned him, waiting for a response.

  “I don’t know what to think. All I cared about back then was getting my driver’s license.” He’d forgotten that—how driving had seemed all-important at fifteen.

  He patted her hand. “It doesn’t matter, Mom. None of it matters now. We go forward, isn’t that what they tell you in your meetings? You’re doing great. Don’t let the past snare you in its trap.”

  Remember that, Dev. The past is the past.

  His mother’s eyes swirled with confusion, with old hurts. With the beginnings of the fog that had claimed too many years.

  Dev swore silently at the sight. “Come on, Mom. You’ve worked too hard to get here.” He gestured at the boxes. “I’ll get Connor and Dee to help me, and we’ll get rid of this stuff.”

  Visibly, she pulled herself back, the new woman she was becoming. Drawing in a deep breath, she shook her head. “No, Devlin. These are my memories. I haven’t been able to look at any of this since he…” Again, she shook her head. “There’s one box of your father’s business papers that I’d like you to take, though. I don’t understand any of that stuff, but I thought you might like to have them.”

  The last thing he wanted was to dig into their past. His own past with Lacey was plenty to handle right now. But he nodded. “I’ll stick it in my car when I leave. I’m pretty busy on a case right now, but I’ll get to it one of these days. Or maybe I’ll take it to Connor. Let him put that MBA to use for something besides impressing women.”

  Monique smiled faintly at the thought of Dev’s much-younger brother. “You’re a good son, Devlin. A good man. I’ve let you down, but I won’t do that anymore.” She lifted her shoulders, straightening her whole delicate frame. “Once I move, I’m going to look for a job. You’ve supported me long enough. Too long.”

  “You have an important job, Mom. Grandmother. Little Katie is going to keep you plenty busy.” Seeing her protest, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it right now, okay? I’m doing fine.” Then, unable to stand any more assaults from the past, he took the tie from her hand and laid it on the sofa, then steered her toward the kitchen. “But if you wanted to fix me breakfast while I drink about a gallon of coffee, I sure wouldn’t complain.”

  “I’d be happy to do that.”

  “Good. And while you’re at it, you can tell me what the world’s smartest baby has been up to this week.”

  At the mention of Deirdre’s Katie, his mother’s eyes lit. “Oh, that sweet child. You won’t believe what she did just yesterday…”

  He could tell this would take a while, but that was fine. Dev would forgive Deirdre all the attempts at matchmaking that drove him nuts. She’d produced the miracle that had given his mother a reason to live.

  And listening to stories of sweet Katie was far better than thinking about whether or not Lacey would cancel their picnic.

  And whether or not he hoped she would.

  Lacey held Christina’s hand as they entered the plastic surgeon’s office, an associate of Philip’s who’d agreed to give an assessment on reconstructing the child’s face.

  Christina clasped her hand tightly, her head downcast. The child had learned too much about the world’s cruelty. The stares bothered her, whether from pity or disgust. The pretty pink dress Lacey had bought her to wear today, knowing how much Christina minded being seen in public, wasn’t helping, no matter Christina’s delight when she’d donned it.

  “Let’s sit over here, all right?” Lacey’s hand hovered over the fine strawberry-blonde hair, resisting the urge to warn the room’s other occupants to be careful of this child.

  But instead, she found her own heart tugged. A boy of perhaps twelve sat with his mother, his hands and face bearing the scars of terrible burns. The boy glanced up, then away quickly, as she’d seen Christina do so often. Lacey wished she could tell the boy he had nothing to fear from her, but the best she could do was to meet the mother’s gaze evenly, with a nod and a smile. The woman glanced at Christina and smiled back.

  “Lacey,” Christina tugged her down and whispered in Lacey’s ear. “That boy—he’s got scars, too.” Her brown eyes were filled with sympathy. “Did someone hit him?”

  Dear God, it was so unfair that an eight-year-old girl should have lived the way Christina had. Lacey leaned down. “If we whisper about him, he’ll feel the way you do when people stare. Could we talk about this later?”

  Understanding dawned. Christina nodded. Looking across the room, she gave the boy a shy smile. It wasn’t returned, but the boy didn’t turn away quite so far this time.

  “Let’s read a magazine,” Lacey suggested, rising to head for the magazine rack.

  Just then, the door to the examining rooms opened, and Missy Delavant stepped out. She looked startled to see Lacey, but somehow Lacey couldn’t be too surprised that this woman who hadn’t yet hit thirty would already be looking into cosmetic surgery.

  “Lacey, what are you doing here?” Missy’s mouth took on a sly smirk.

  “I’m here with a client.”

  “Client?” Missy glanced behind Lacey. It was easy to tell when she spotted Christina from the look of distaste that crossed her face. “Oh—one of your little urchins, right? Philip told me about your volunteer work. I have to hand it to you, Lacey—I don’t know how you do it. Philip’s idea of serving on the hospital board sounds much less…tawdry.”

  Years under Margaret DeMille’s tutelage kept the sharp retort from Lacey’s lips, but her hands curled at her sides. “I enjoy my work. It’s very satisfying.”

  But Missy wasn’t through sharpening her claws. “As satisfying as selling your picnic for five thousand dollars? I thought your mother would choke.” Her eyebrows lifted. “But the man candy who bought it…” She licked her lips.

  The last thing Lacey wanted to discuss was Dev. “I’d better get back to Christina.”

  Missy still had one more parting shot. “You should be careful, Lacey. Philip is more than a little miffed about this little pas de deux picnic. He says you’ve been making yourself scarce the last few days. Is there something going on with the dreamboat? Doesn’t look too good for Philip’s fiancée to be dating another man.”

  “It’s not a date. And Philip and I are not engaged.”

  Missy’s eyes widened. “But it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it? Or is there more you’re not telling?”

  Only that I can’t sleep and I’ve picked up the phone a hundred times to cancel—

  “It’s a simple fundraiser, Missy. End of story. Now if you’ll excuse me, Christina’s nervous about being here and I need to be with her.” Lacey turned away.

  “Nice to see you, Lacey. Let me
know if you need a substitute for the picnic.”

  If only it were that simple.

  Lacey sat down by Christina. “Here, this one looks interesting. Why don’t you read this story to me?”

  When she heard the door close, Lacey let out the breath she’d been holding.

  Dev sipped his coffee as he looked out at the Houston morning, then glanced at his watch again. The princess might not be a morning person, but she hadn’t picked up when he’d gotten into Houston late last night and tried to call. He’d have to call her soon.

  He could have simply left a message with the time he’d be there, but he wanted to hear confirmation from her own voice. She might say she wouldn’t cancel, but he wouldn’t put it past her. Wouldn’t be the first time she had left him hanging.

  He looked at his watch again. Nine o’clock. Accustomed to rising at five to work out at the gym, he felt like it was noon. It would be impolite to wait any longer to call, even if he woke her up.

  On the fourth ring, voicemail picked up. Dev listened to the voice that had haunted his dreams until he had ruthlessly quashed them in the struggle to survive.

  Lacey’s voice had been clear and pure back then, the melodic tones of a bell. Now it held an undertone that made Dev think of the smooth wood-smoked whiskey he favored. Just a little edge of sex beneath the patrician.

  Once he had felt the first licks of flame beneath the girl’s innocence. Had the woman learned to burn, or had she frozen solid?

  He was surprised at how much he wanted to know the answer.

  Just as the recorded message was ending, the real voice broke in—and he felt it like a caress across raw nerves.

  “Hello?” A taste of smoke and velvet beneath cool satin.

  His body stirred, and Dev nearly hung up.

  “Hello?” Irritation edged at sleep.

  “Sleeping late again, princess?”

  “It’s not—” She gasped. “Oh, no—” Her voice took on a note of horror. “Dev, it’s nine o’clock.”

  “I noticed.” He sat down on the bed, enjoying the sense of advantage. “Not much of an early riser, are you? I guess that’s easy when you don’t have to work for a living.”

  “Dev, I don’t usually…”

  He could almost feel ashamed at the distress he heard. This wasn’t much of a way to get their picnic started, and it sure as hell was no way to pave the path for Boone and Maddie.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He tamped down his irritation, running fingers through his hair. “I owe you an apology. I got out of Dallas too late last night, and you didn’t answer when I called. I’m sorry if I’m catching you too early.”

  “It’s not too early,” she responded. “I’m not a late sleeper. I just—”

  “Does this give you enough time to get ready?”

  “Three hours? I could be ready in thirty minutes,” she sniffed.

  “No woman can get ready in thirty minutes. I know. I have sisters.”

  “Want to bet?”

  He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Would you care to make a wager, Mr. Marlowe?”

  Damn, but he could almost get a kick out of that snotty princess-to-peasant tone—except that he was tired of being the peasant. But this Lacey intrigued him. He decided to push her further.

  “Are we talking thirty minutes from the time I hang up the phone?”

  “I…”

  He heard the note of panic in her voice. “Shall we synchronize our watches?”

  “Dev, I— Maybe I was a little hasty.”

  “Ah. I knew it. My sisters always have to change clothes fourteen times. And then there’s all that makeup and the hair and junk. Don’t worry, I understand.”

  He should pull the receiver away from his ear before he got frostbite. He could feel ice forming now.

  “Fine. Thirty minutes from the time we hang up. But that will make our picnic rather early.”

  “Hey, nine o’clock is like noon to me. Some of us working stiffs have to get up early.”

  Ice turned to steel, encased in velvet. “So how much shall we wager?”

  The challenge was irresistible. And damn it, he was surprised by this Lacey. Maybe the doe wasn’t so fragile after all.

  “Not how much. When.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you lose, we have a real date.”

  He heard a faint gasp, but she recovered quickly. “And if I win?”

  Dev smiled. “Then you get to pick where we go.”

  Lacey laughed, and it was the first warm spring shower washing over a heart chilled by winter. “You always dared too much, Dev. Always pushed the limits.”

  Yeah. And lost big, thanks to your father.

  The past rose up between them and the warmth of the moment slipped away. Dev was surprised that he wasn’t ready to let it go. “So does that mean you agree?”

  Silence sang out over the line.

  “Dev, do you think this is wise?”

  The girl who had dared to meet him in defiance of her father warred with the princess who knew her place.

  And his.

  “Probably not. Your father wouldn’t like it at all.”

  “My father has nothing to do with this.”

  Keep telling yourself that, princess. “Forget the bet. I’ll pick you up at noon.” He prepared to hang up.

  Frost coated a clear challenge. “I’ll be ready in thirty minutes, Dev.”

  He shook his head, not sure whether to marvel or curse. She wasn’t a shy sixteen-year-old anymore.

  “You’re on.”

  Lacey threw the third change of clothes on her bed. What did one wear to have a picnic with a man who’d betrayed you? She fumbled in her purse for the roll of antacids.

  Why had she agreed to this? What was she thinking, to have let him manipulate her into this picnic—much less to bet with him, for heavens’ sake? She never lost her temper, but somehow he had pushed her too far with that smug certainty, with all his assumptions.

  She stood for a moment, hands on hips, and reached for her usual aplomb. Casual, Lacey. Pick something casual so he’ll know you don’t care.

  Did she own anything casual? She reached for her Tory Burch wrap skirt and a simple gray silk t-shirt.

  The phone rang.

  Glancing at the clock, Lacey touched her stomach. She yanked both garments off their hangars and walked to the phone. “Hello?”

  “Lacey, darling. How are you today?”

  Oh, no. “I’m fine, Mother. How are you?” Sandals. She’d wear sandals. Sandals were casual.

  “You sound out of breath.”

  “Oh, I’m just—” Out of her mind, that’s what she was. Insane to have agreed to this picnic. “I’m exercising, Mother. May I call you back?”

  “Why…yes.” The voice went frosty. “I suppose that will be all right. How much longer do you have left? I must leave in forty-five minutes for bridge.”

  “Oh, dear. I’ll probably miss you, then. I just now got started. What did you need?” Please hurry, Mother. Lacey pulled the phone away from her ear as she slipped on her top. “What?”

  “I said, are you all right? You sound distracted.”

  “Fine…just fine. I, um—I’m warmed up and didn’t want to let my muscles cool.” Lacey frowned at herself in the mirror. The color wasn’t right. Casting a frantic glance at her closet, she was headed across the floor when the doorbell rang.

  “Is that your doorbell?”

  “No—uh, yes. I guess it is. Listen, Mother, I’ll talk to you later, all right?”

  “Go answer it and I’ll wait. I need to talk to you about this picnic. Darling, it’s simply not suitable. You know nothing about this man.”

  The doorbell rang again, twice this time. No woman can be ready in thirty minutes.

  “Mother, I’m sorry. I’ll have to talk to you later. Have a good time at bridge.” Knowing she would pay for it later, Lacey hung up the phone and grabbed her skirt, fastening it around her wa
ist as she ran to the closet and slid her feet into high-heeled, strappy sandals.

  Casting a glance at the mirror, she frowned. No lipstick. Hair barely dry.

  He was knocking this time. Lacey made a face at herself in the mirror and headed for the door.

  The door burst open, and there she was, color high in her cheeks and breathing hard.

  She was gorgeous.

  And rattled.

  For a moment the pain of the past receded, and he couldn’t resist teasing. “Sure you’re ready?”

  There it went, that regal lift of the chin. “I told you I’d be ready,” Lacey replied tartly. “I’ll get my things.” She turned and walked with unhurried grace down the hallway. He was too busy admiring her legs—God, those legs—to notice at first that her shirttail was only half-tucked in the back.

  Dev grinned. Then he closed the door behind him and looked around. What he saw surprised him.

  Mostly he saw the Architectural Digest spread he’d expected. A lot of whites and creams, high windows and open spaces. It could have been sterile, except that here and there were bold splashes of color. Reds and purples and golds in fat pillows and lush paintings hinting at the passion he’d found inside the ethereal virgin princess.

  He wanted to see more, to prowl her bedroom, to find out if the passion still lived inside the woman she’d become.

  But it didn’t matter. This was business. Passion hadn’t kept her from betraying him.

  She returned with the picnic basket and a quilt, a tiny excuse for a purse dangling from her shoulder, lipstick applied and shirt tucked inside the narrow waist. Her legs seemed to go on forever.

  He took the basket from her. “You didn’t need the lipstick. You look fine without it.”

  The princess started, then quickly recovered. But her eyes, those silvery, witchy eyes, studied him for a long breath. One hand grazed her stomach lightly.

  A surge of something like guilt assaulted Dev’s conscience. He’d seen her touch her stomach like that before.

  “Do you feel all right?”

  She looked startled. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

  Dev nodded at her hand, and she dropped it to her side as if burned.