She stumbled again, hoping he mistook her flushed face for embarrassment. “Sorry. My fault. You’re doing fine. It’s just been a while.”
“Seven years.” His smile was part sympathy, part encouragement, part…something. When she blinked at him, he added, “Since we’ve danced. Together, I mean.”
“I’ve never danced with you.”
This time the stumble was his fault, as he completely missed a step. “Of course you have. We…you and I…”
She shook her head.
“Never?” He stared at her, incredulous, as he spun her around the far corner of the floor.
Heat pooled in her abdomen as their thighs brushed, Tori all too aware that she was wearing nothing beneath the flimsy fabric of her dress. “If you, ah, remember, we didn’t go out much.”
“I remember.” And for a few beats those memories swirled hot in his eyes. Then he shook them off. “I can’t believe we didn’t…are you sure?”
“Very.”
“Oh.” His gaze pulled away from hers to fix on a point somewhere over her shoulder as they glided and spun reasonably smoothly through the mob of dancers. A terse line dug between his brows. “We should have.”
She could only shrug. The movement dislodged her shawl and it slithered down to hook at her elbows, leaving her shoulders bare. They danced in silence through the chorus of the song, their bodies moving more easily together but still not entirely in sync. Who would’ve guessed their first dance would be so awkward when sex between them had been so natural, so…
“Why don’t you like him?” Delon asked, fracturing a particularly vivid memory.
“Who?”
“Wyatt. You practically frosted his balls.”
“He was being a prick.”
Delon blinked, surprised either by her assessment or her language. “He was hitting on you.”
“Only to piss you off.”
Though she hadn’t figured out what he had to gain by it. And she knew his kind. Hell, every man in her family was his kind, even her father when it suited him. Wyatt had something to gain or he wouldn’t have sought out Delon, the one person in this massive ballroom who did not want to see him. Or was Tori his target? No. He’d asked her to dance to needle Delon. But why?
“He never used to be,” Delon said, frowning. “A prick, I mean. When I saw him at the rodeos.”
“Have you done something to irritate him?”
“Not that I…” Then he trailed off, and his hand tightened on her waist. “After my appointment on Tuesday, Violet and I argued. I imagine Joe told him.”
And Wyatt was getting even by being rude? No, that was too simple. She glanced toward the bar. Wyatt was leaning against it, with a Goodacre sister on each side. One had a diamond-crusted claw on his chest. He snagged the other’s hand as it wandered south of his belt, looking totally unperturbed as he caught Tori’s gaze and raised a glass of something expensive on the rocks in a gesture that was the smug equivalent of a V for victory.
Son of a bitch.
Tori tripped over Delon’s foot and nearly sent both of them headfirst onto the nearest table. Thank God for her boots. If she’d been wearing heels, she’d be face down in the centerpiece.
“You okay?” Delon asked, his hands gripping her shoulders as they regained their balance.
“Yes. I’m just…” Furious. At Wyatt. At herself, for letting that bastard manipulate her so easily—straight into Delon’s arms, where she could distract him from making trouble for Violet and Joe. Right on cue, the band segued into a slow, dreamy number and the lights dimmed.
“This might be more our speed.” Delon’s hands slid down her arms, the brush of them setting fire to nerve endings she’d begun to think had died with Willy. His voice went low, a hint of the old mischief flirting with the corners of his mouth. “Wanna go again?”
Her body went hot, an inferno fed by all those memories piled one upon the other, each more flammable than the next. Oh yeah, she wanted. Many, many things, beginning with flipping Wyatt the bird and dancing until she and Delon found that magical rhythm they’d once had. She wanted, for one night, to be held. To be warm again. But this was not the place to let her reincarnated hormones have their way. And this was not the man. Too many ghosts of mistakes past were dancing along.
“We’re one slow dance away from having our picture front and center on the society page,” she said. “I don’t think that would be good for either of us.”
His hands dropped away, the warmth leaching out of his eyes as the walls closed in behind them. Impulsively, she reached up to skim her thumb over the clean angle of his cheekbone. “You’re right, though. We should have done this sooner.”
He caught her wrist, his grip like an iron bracelet, loose but unbreakable. “Why did you leave without telling me?”
They were attracting attention. Tori could feel the curious gazes, hear the whispered innuendo. But he deserved an answer. “I was hoping you’d try to find me.”
“Find you?” Emotions flickered over his face. Shock, confusion, a hint of irritation. “How was I supposed to do that?”
“You could have called my house.”
“The Patterson ranch.”
His voice held the same note of gross disbelief as if she’d suggested he dial up the White House and ask to speak to the first lady. He glanced across the dance floor to where her father gleamed in the midst of his supplicants like a king holding court. Suddenly, Tori saw the separation between his world and hers through Delon’s eyes. Not the shallow, albeit rocky ravine she had considered an inconvenience. To him, it was a chasm. Bottomless. Impassable. Finally, emphatically, she understood. For Delon, making that call was unthinkable.
“It was a test.” His hand dropped away from her arm. In disgust?
“I was stupid, and immature.” Her long-held conviction disintegrated as she grasped the full consequences of her bitter, childish actions. For Delon. Herself. Even Violet. “I am truly sorry for that.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he smiled, the curl of his lips so sharp it was like a hook sinking into her heart. “But you’re not sorry you left.”
“No.” She let her gaze circle the glittering crowd, then come back to meet his. “This place decided who I was before I was ever born. Boxed me up all nice and neat. There was no room to find the person I wanted to be.”
“Willy Hancock’s wife.”
“Among other things. And you became Beni’s father, so we both won.”
“Is that what this feels like to you?” he asked. Then he turned and walked away.
Tori stood alone on the dance floor for several moments too long, staring at the spot where he’d been. Then she lifted her hand in an empty toast.
Here’s to the shortest friendship on record.
Chapter 19
Tori woke to the smell of coffee. Shoving her hair out of her face, she dragged herself into an upright position on the huge sectional sofa where she’d ended up after thrashing around for a miserable hour in the guest room. Her father smiled at her across a kitchen island slightly larger than Hawaii.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Did I wake you?”
She rolled her shoulders and yawned. “It’s okay. I need to get home to feed my critters.”
Not technically true, though Fudge would consider himself horribly abused if he didn’t get his morning grain. She’d put out extra hay in the feeder and there was plenty of grass in the pasture. If the cat ran short on food it could hunt up a mouse, or drag down a passing jogger. Her dad strolled over and handed her a cup of coffee, then settled onto the opposite L of the couch with his own mug. They sipped, watching through floor-to-ceiling windows as the streets below slowly came to life. Three blocks away, a refrigerated truck pulled in behind a restaurant. Tori watched the driver angle his trailer up to a loading dock with the ease o
f long practice. That could be a Sanchez truck. Possibly even Delon.
“So,” she said. “About last night…”
He held up a mollifying hand. “I know. I overstepped. I wanted to get you out of that house, see a little of your old sparkle. Delon just happened to be handy.”
“You knew about us. Before.”
“I knew about all of your friends. For safety purposes.”
And she’d known about his security measures. They’d had an unspoken agreement. She wouldn’t fuss about the surveillance as long as it wasn’t obvious. Now she wanted to squirm. How much had those invisible eyes seen and reported back to her father?
“About Delon…please don’t.”
He gave her a long, piercing look. When she didn’t offer any further explanation, he nodded. They lapsed into silence. Her father crossed one leg over the other, tilting his dangling foot to examine the polished leather shoe. Tori lifted her cup and took a sip to hide her expression from her father’s too-perceptive gaze. Ready or not, her emotions had busted out of their cocoon. It remained to be seen whether they’d be butterflies—or wasps. Her father shifted, planting both feet on the floor and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his serious discussion pose. The back of her neck tightened in alarm.
“Daddy?” she asked tentatively. “Are you okay? You know…physically?”
“What? Oh, yes. I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle.” He stared into his mug for a few beats, then drew a long, deep breath. “I guess I just have to blurt it out…I’m going to ask your mother for a divorce. And this time I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Tori goggled at him. Divorce. Her parents. This time? “You’ve asked her before?”
“Three…no, wait, four times. The first didn’t really count. I was angry and I’d had too much to drink.”
“And this was when?”
He circled the top of the cup with his thumb. “You were ten.”
“You’ve been trying to divorce her for nineteen years?”
“Not continuously.” He gave a helpless shrug. “You know your mother. She starts explaining why it’s a bad idea, and she’s so damn reasonable…by the time she’s done you feel ridiculous and irresponsible and end up apologizing for being selfish.”
Yep. That was her mother. “If you’ve been that unhappy…”
He waved off her concern with a weary hand. “She was right. I had to think of you and your sister. And my career. Early on, a divorce would’ve been a disaster.”
“You’re up for re-election next year.” And two years after that was the presidential election. She could hear her mother now: the calm, maddeningly rational explanations lined with thinly concealed threats. Claire had invested too much into positioning him for the presidency. He would not be allowed to do it without her.
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the coffee cup. “I’m pulling my hat out of the ring.”
“Oh.” Oh shit. As a midlife crisis went, this was a doozy. One that would send the political pundits into a nationwide frenzy.
He snuck a glance at her from beneath lowered eyelashes. Testing. Uncertain. Did he want her to talk him into it, or out?
“You’re sure about this?” she asked, careful to keep her voice neutral.
“Politics was never my first choice.” His head came up and the resolve in his voice hardened. “I wanted to stay home and run the ranch, but I did as I was expected. Did it pretty damn well, if I say so myself. I’ve given the public thirty-five years of my life. Now it’s my turn.”
All right, then. No second thoughts there. “Have you told Elizabeth?”
“Not yet.” He flashed a crooked grin. “I started with you, because I knew you’d understand.”
“I…would?”
“You stand up to your mother. To all the family pressure.” He shook his head in wonder. “I was in awe when you left medical school. And then the move to Wyoming. When you up and married Willy…” He grinned, clearly enjoying the memory. “I had the cardiologist on speed-dial the day I passed that news along. When you and I talked on the phone, the happiness just poured out of you. And then I’d hang up and go back to my day full of people who have a use for me, but no one who really cares. No one who lights me up that way.”
“Oh, Daddy…”
His face went grim. “When Willy died, it was a wake-up call. I can’t stand thinking I might never feel the kind of love you felt for him.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. For Willy. For her father. They would have enjoyed each other so much if they’d had a chance. “So I’m the bad influence.”
His smile was so full of pride and hope she could barely stand to look at him. “I prefer to call you my inspiration.”
“Awesome.”
Maybe she could inspire him to keep her part in his rebellion between the two of them. But it wouldn’t matter. Her mother would guess. For a woman who spent a large part of her days literally inside other people’s heads, she missed nothing that went on in her family, and to say she would not be pleased was a gross understatement. And it was a sentiment that would be shared by a majority of the residents of Texas, and an entire political party. It might be time to start scoping out jobs in another state. Or territory. Puerto Rico sounded lovely all of a sudden. Better yet, Brazil. They did a lot of team roping there. How many thousands of dollars would it cost to have Fudge flown to South America?
“When?” she asked.
“I had my lawyer file the paperwork yesterday.”
Well. Hell. They were really doing this, then. Tori gave it until Monday, Tuesday at the outside, before the information leaked to the press and the media went wild.
He was staring into his coffee cup again. “She’s flying in from her conference in Belgium this evening. I fly out for D.C. in the morning. I’m going to tell her before I leave.”
Dump it on her and run, in other words. Tori set down her cup and moved over to sit beside her father and loop an arm around his waist, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. “Before things get too crazy, I want you to know I am proud of you.”
“You too, sugar.” He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. “You too.”
Chapter 20
If measured in pure, ear-splitting volume, Beni’s birthday party was a huge success. The five squealing, splashing boys raised enough ruckus in the indoor pool to disguise the fact that the guest of honor’s parents weren’t speaking to each other.
Violet was still fuming, and Delon still couldn’t bring himself to apologize. He could have joined the boys in the pool, but he was in no mood to splash around with Joe. Plus his knee was throbbing in time to the beat of his heart thanks to standing around that damn ballroom, smiling and nodding, and keeping the width of the dance floor between himself and Tori at all times.
A goddamn test. His jaw clenched again, remembering her apology. I was stupid. Yeah, well, she wasn’t the only one. She’d tested him and he’d failed. Spectacularly. In nearly six months of screwing around, he’d never even taken her dancing. Geezus. What a complete shitheel.
And even with the guilt churning in his gut, he couldn’t forget the feel of her bare, silky skin under his palm as they danced. The sweet-tart smell of her. How she’d touched his cheek with that look in her eyes he couldn’t decipher. Those damn cowboy boots, and how, when she’d stumbled and his hand had slid down over her hip, he’d felt nothing underneath that dress. And then he remembered how she’d been wearing a dress and cowboy boots and not much else the night he’d met her…
Delon slouched deeper into the chair he’d parked beside Violet’s cousin Cole, who had been enlisted to act as a pack mule for the ton and a half of food Iris had whipped up. Cole was perfect company for Delon’s murky state of mind—he rarely spoke when he was in a crowd larger than two, and then only under duress. On the other hand, he was a massive reminder that things could be a whole lot
worse. As a teenager, he’d lost his entire family in a car wreck, which only made Delon feel ungrateful. At least his brother was alive.
Luckily Iris Jacobs chattered enough to make up for all the rest of them, a little brown hen bustling here and there, making certain everyone got their fill of birthday cake and punch and four kinds of cookies and good heavens, could they believe Beni was already six?
Her chirpy comments were like needles in Delon’s ears.
Finally, thank the stars, Violet called a halt and started dragging soggy, protesting boys out of the pool.
Beni latched his arms around Joe’s neck. “Throw me one more time. Please.”
“Just once.” Joe cupped his hands under Beni’s foot, counted one, two, three and launched the boy into the air. A trick Delon had taught Beni. Their trick. Beni’s squeal of delight was the last straw.
Delon shoved to his feet. “If y’all don’t mind, I’m gonna skip dinner. Got a set of head gaskets to replace back in the shop.”
“It can’t wait?” Violet asked, doing a piss-poor job of hiding her relief.
Iris gave him a look that was more eagle than hen. “That’s too bad. Carry this cooler to the car for me on your way out, would you?”
“Cole can get—” Violet began.
Iris cut her dead with a single glance.
“I’ll just go check on the cake,” Violet said, and made herself scarce.
Cole, as usual, said nothing.
Delon hefted the cooler and followed Iris out of the hotel. She opened the trunk of the car and stood aside while Delon stowed the cooler, but when he would’ve stepped back, her hand clamped on his arm. For such a soft woman, her grip was like steel. So was her gaze.
“You know we think of you as one of our family, Delon.”
“Yes, ma’am. And I appreciate it.”
Her scrutiny was so intense it felt as if she could see clear to the marrow of his bones. “Life can throw a person some tough curves. This family of ours has had to deal with more than most. Losing Cole’s parents and his brother. Gil’s accident.” She paused, waiting until he met her gaze. “Beni.”
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