Delon blew out a sigh of relief. All in all, he hadn’t handled that so bad.
Then Beni looked up and asked in a clear, penetrating voice, “Daddy? Does anyone in our family get born on purpose?”
* * *
Delon had never been so glad to park in front of Violet’s house. He’d distracted Beni from the talk of benefits and babies by handing over his smartphone, a rare treat since the last one had died of accidental root beer poisoning. Also, there was no chance of bumping into Joe. Joe had been on the road since the birthday party, and for one reason or another had only been able to make time for one short visit in three weeks. Possibly the first sign he was starting to chafe at the bit.
Beni grabbed his box of chocolates and shot out of the car. Delon followed more slowly, schooling his expression. Violet was likely to be feeling lonely and let down and he didn’t want to rub it in by letting slip that he was eager to get on with his evening. But he couldn’t be overly nice, either. Any hint of sympathy could get him throttled because she would read it—rightly—as doubt on his part. Damn Joe Cassidy.
“Mommy!” Beni yelled, thundering through the front door and into the kitchen. “Hey, Mommy we got you—” He stopped dead as Violet stepped out of her bedroom. “Whoa. Who’s getting married?”
“Married?” Violet’s face went pink as she twitched a skirt that didn’t quite reach her knees. Delon could feel his eyes popping. The dress was very red and very clingy, especially the top, and there was a lot of Violet to cling to up there. “Does it look okay?”
“You look beautiful. Here.” Beni shoved his box of chocolates into her hands with so much enthusiasm he nearly knocked her off her heels. Delon hadn’t realized she owned a pair.
“Hurry up and open them,” Beni demanded, dancing around. “I’m starving.”
“The chocolate is for your mother. And it looks like she has plans.” Big plans she hadn’t bothered to share with Delon.
“I just found out a couple of hours ago.” She set the chocolates on the table and picked at the cellophane. “Wyatt is flying Joe over from Fort Worth for the evening. We’re going to the Lone Steer for dinner.”
Because of course Wyatt had his own plane and flew it himself, so he could drop Joe practically at Violet’s front door.
Beni brightened. “Hey! While you and Joe have dinner and stuff, maybe Wyatt could take me—”
“No,” Delon and Violet said in unison. On that, at least, they still agreed. Wyatt Darrington was not taking Beni off barnstorming, or God knew what, in his shiny little Cessna.
Beni pooched out his bottom lip. “How come you and Daddy get to do something fun for Valentine’s Day and not me?”
Violet’s gaze shot to Delon. “You’re going out?”
“I…sort of.”
“You better take Tori her valentine tonight, else you’ll eat it all like you did my Halloween candy. And the Christmas fudge Grandma Iris sent,” Beni said, with an accusing glare.
Tattletale. “I left you the peanut brittle.”
“Only ’cuz you don’t like it.”
Violet’s eyebrows arched in amusement, but flattened when she considered the rest of what Beni had said. “You bought Tori a valentine?”
Delon couldn’t stop from ducking his head like an embarrassed eighth-grader. “To, um, thank her. For helping me out with my knee and all.”
“I see. Delon, are you sure—” Then Violet stuck a hand up, stopping herself. “Never mind. I’m staying out of it. And, Beni, Grandma made Valentine’s cookies for you to decorate.”
“Are there sprinkles?”
“Loads.”
“Well, I guess.” He heaved a put-upon sigh, but he was already sidling for the door. “I’ll just go to Grandma’s now.”
Delon edged after him, working up a smile. “Have a good night.”
Violet’s return smile was equally ambivalent. “You too.”
* * *
His nerves jittered and danced all the way to Dumas. He turned the MP3 player over and over in his hand, mentally reviewing the playlist he’d been working on for days. Probably too schmaltzy, but too late to fix it now. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the lights glowing in Tori’s windows and her car parked out front. He’d been afraid she might be out with her dad or something. Tucking the gaudy candy box under his arm, he took a deep breath and marched up to the front door to jab the bell before he lost his nerve.
Silence.
He shifted the box to his other arm. Brushed a Snickers peanut crumb from the sleeve of his coat. Counted to thirty. Damn. He hadn’t considered that this might be a terrible night for Tori. What if she was huddled in there crying over her wedding pictures? He counted to sixty, cursing his dopey plan. He didn’t want to force her to come to the door with red, puffy eyes, but he’d made his presence known, so it would be weird to just leave. He shifted the box to the other arm again. He could write a note and leave it on her doorstep with the box of chocolates, if he had a pen and paper and any idea what to say.
Sorry I missed you? Geezus. That sounded like a package delivery service. He searched his mind, but he seemed to be fresh out of witty messages for a former lover turned therapist turned— The door was yanked open so suddenly he jumped back, tripped, and nearly ass-planted on the front walk.
“Hello, Delon. Fancy you showing up all unexpected,” Tori said sweetly. Too sweetly. And she sure as hell hadn’t been crying. That smile of hers looked a little mean, and he could’ve sworn he heard a muffled f-bomb from around the corner behind her.
Her smile widened. “Where’s your wrist brace?”
“I took it off, just for tonight.”
She was in dusty jeans again, with her hair yanked back in a straggly ponytail. His gaze dropped to the floor. She’d kicked her boots off in the foyer. His stomach did a sick clench when he saw a second pair beside them. Fuck. There was a man in her house. Who? And when had she—
Tori grabbed the box of candy from under his arm. “Aw. Are these for me? That’s so sweet.”
“Uh…” Humiliation burned like acid injected straight into his arteries. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…didn’t think…I should’ve called first.”
“Yes. You should have.” Her false humor dropped away, leaving only cool reproach. “We’re not doing this again, Delon. If you want to see me, you pick up the phone and make a date, preferably at least twenty-four hours in advance.” Her smile was a lethal weapon, slicing clear to the bone. “But thanks for the chocolate. And the thought.”
Then she closed the door in his face.
Chapter 31
“That was harsh,” Shawnee said as Tori strolled back into the living room and tossed the candy box onto the cluttered coffee table.
Tori just wiggled her fingers in a give-it-to-me gesture. Shawnee cursed, but dug out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill and slapped it into Tori’s hand. As much as she’d hoped for better this time around, Tori had been willing to put money on Delon showing up unannounced on Valentine’s Day, since it coincided with her dating deadline.
Damn, though, when she’d opened that door and seen him standing there, all hard body and melted chocolate eyes, with that hopeful smile…the déjà lust had blasted through her good intentions like a nuclear meltdown. If Shawnee hadn’t been there, Tori would’ve been slamming that door behind him as she dragged his extremely fine butt inside. Which was exactly why she’d invited Shawnee in for a postpractice beer.
She sidled around to peek out the front window. His car still sat in the driveway, as if he was trying to figure out what had just happened. Good. She intended to lay out some very clear ground rules this time, and if he wasn’t willing to play by them…well, better this sharp jab in the region of her heart than being gutted again.
Shawnee came to peer over her shoulder. “I never pegged him as a booty call guy.”
; “You have sex with someone on a barstool two hours after you meet, it tends to warp his expectations.”
Shawnee choked on her beer. “You…him…on a—Jesus Christ, woman! You admit that to everyone?”
“Only if it comes up. No pun intended.”
Shawnee sputtered, spraying beer on the back of Tori’s neck. “Stop! I’ll have that fucking picture—and I do mean fucking in every sense of the word—stuck in my head until my dying day.”
“So sorry.” Tori’s voice was mocking, but her fingers clenched around the twenty-dollar bill as Delon’s headlights came on. He made an L-turn to pull onto the road and away, the taillights two lonely pinpoints of red in the darkness. Her heart twisted, recalling the stunned look on his face. She had been too harsh. Once she’d made her point, she should have at least invited him in. Should have…
Down at the end of the lane, Delon’s brake lights flared at the stop sign, but instead of turning onto the highway, the twin red beacons continued to glow like a pair of devil’s eyes, as if he was just sitting there…what?
Her phone rang, startling her. Shawnee stuck an elbow in her ribs, shoving her aside to snatch it from the counter. “Well, lookee who’s calling.” She turned away, nailing Tori with another elbow to hold her off. “Hey, Delon. This is Shawnee. Tough night. Shot yer ass right outta the sky, didn’t she?”
“Shawnee!” Tori made another grab for the phone and got straight-armed against the wall. Geezus. The woman was an animal.
“I gotta say, D, you really let me down,” Shawnee said, oblivious to Tori’s flailing. “And you cost me twenty bucks. But as long as you’re in the neighborhood and you brought that ugly-ass box of chocolates, you might as well come on back. Our little princess has made her point. And if she doesn’t want you, I’ll be happy to lick your wounded pride.”
Tori tried to bite the arm that pinned her to the wall.
“Gotta go. She’s gettin’ kinda testy. See you in a few.” Shawnee poked the End button and tossed the phone.
Tori scrabbled for it as it hit her in the chest. “You are a lunatic.”
Shawnee sauntered over and flopped into the recliner.
Tori stared at her. “You’re staying?”
“Oh, hell yeah. I ain’t missing the rest of this show.” She wiggled deeper into the chair and fixed an expectant gaze on the door like a kid waiting for a birthday clown to pop out.
“God, you suck.” Tori stomped over, grabbed her beer, and gulped down half of it.
The doorbell rang. Tori jolted like it was a shotgun blast and stood there, mentally flailing, until Shawnee hefted a foot and kicked her in the butt. “I ain’t got all night.”
Tori dragged reluctant feet toward the door. When she opened it, Delon stood on her front steps looking equally gobsmacked.
“Hi…again,” she said.
“Hi.”
Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Shawnee said. “Come in and sit down.”
Delon’s eyebrows rose in question. Tori stood aside, then closed the door as he walked into her living room, step by careful step, like a man expecting a snare to yank his feet out from under him.
“Sit,” Shawnee ordered, pointing at one end of the couch. She gestured Tori to the other end. “You—sit there.”
They sat.
Shawnee sat up, folded her hands in her lap and lifted her chin. “Now, let’s see if we can’t straighten this out.”
“Excuse me?” Tori said. “What the hell—”
“Just call me Doctor Pickett.” Shawnee gave them a smarmy television shrink smile. “I am here to be sure you don’t screw this up every way to Sunday. Plus, I’m dying to know—did you really do her on a barstool?”
Delon shot a stunned glare at Tori. “You told her?”
“I warned you…” Tori waved a hand in front of her mouth.
Shawnee gave a gleeful snort. “Way to go, D. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
His face darkened to a shade Tori couldn’t describe but was pretty sure had something to do with dangerously high blood pressure.
“Never mind,” Shawnee said. “From what I understand, rocking the barstool wasn’t the problem. It’s what y’all did next.”
“What we…” Delon trailed off, his eyes glazing over from shock. “Did you tell her everything?”
“No!” Now Tori’s face burned like road rash. Or should she say rug burn? But she definitely had not said a word about the floor in front of the fireplace. Or the shower. Or…
“Holy shit. That good?” Shawnee snorted a laugh, then morphed back into the imperturbable Doctor Pickett. “As much as I’d love to explore the details of your physical relationship, I was actually referring to the part where you, Delon, left the next morning and didn’t call for almost a month, and then only when you were passing through and hoped for another roll in the hay. A pattern of behavior which Tori claims persisted throughout your relationship. Can you explain?”
Delon’s expression suggested he’d prefer to express his opinion of the question. Or jump up and run for his life. His gaze dropped to the floor and he mumbled something.
“A little louder please,” Shawnee prompted.
He drew a breath big enough to lift his shoulders and blurted, “I didn’t think she wanted me to call.”
“What?” Tori turned on him, sputtering. “You thought I liked having no idea when or even if you would show up again? Checking injury reports and rodeo results on the Internet so I knew you hadn’t broken your neck or run your car off into a river somewhere?”
He blinked at her. “You worried about me?”
Oh, that did it. She was gonna have to punch him. “Of course I worried, you dumbass. The miles you were putting in, driving day and night, all those rides…what did you think you were, a dildo with a pulse?”
Shawnee hooted, then tried to regain her faux professional demeanor, but couldn’t quite squash her grin. “Delon?”
“She was…I thought…I mean, after Violet told me…”
Fury reared up like a devil horse inside Tori, red-eyed and snorting flames. She grabbed her pillow off the back of the couch and choked it so she didn’t go for Delon’s throat instead. “Do not even talk to me about Violet.”
“I sense some serious hostility here,” Shawnee interjected. “What did Violet say that made you change your mind?”
Delon stared down at his boots in stony silence.
“I assume she suggested he should avoid repeating his brother’s mistakes,” Tori said flatly.
Shawnee narrowed her eyes at Delon. “Is she right?”
He jerked a shoulder, refusing to answer. Still protecting Violet. But hey, mother of his child and all that. Then he turned his glare on Tori. “If you wanted more, why didn’t you say so?”
“I…”
She got stuck, the ball of anger in her chest congealing into the familiar old lump of hurt and frustration. If she plastered the pillow over her face, would it all just go away? But no. She’d tried that, night after sleepless night, while every molecule in her body strained for the sound of the phone. A knock at the door. Incrementally less able with each passing hour to settle for whatever scraps of time Delon tossed to her, but afraid to lose him altogether.
She blew out a long, hissing breath. “You were just hitting your stride. The last thing you needed was a girl hanging on your leg every time you left town, whining about when she would see you again.”
If anything, that seemed to make Delon more furious. “So you acted like you couldn’t care less if I came back?”
“If I’d done more to show you how much I enjoyed your company, I would’ve been arrested for public indecency! Why would you think…shit.” She thumped the pillow down on her knees and buried her face in it to muffle her scream of frustration.
“Neither did you!”
The silence crackled with static built of regret, sexual awareness, and the echoes of old pain. Shawnee’s voice cut through it, suddenly matter-of-fact. “So Delon assumed the Panhandle Princess was just kicking up her heels with one of the peasants, and Tori assumed you were happy to just take what you could as long as it was offered, and neither of you had the balls to tell the other what you wanted. Did I miss anything?”
Tori pushed up onto her elbows, raking her fingernails over her scalp as she shook her head. Delon followed suit.
“Excellent,” Shawnee declared. “Since we’ve agreed you were both fence-post stupid, my professional advice is to shake hands, agree to leave all that crap in the past, and start clean. Think you can manage?”
Tori angled Delon a doubtful glance. He met her gaze head on, his eyes full of that dogged intent. He stuck out his hand. Tori hesitated, then reached out to take it. A wave of heat rolled up her arm and rippled through her body at the familiar scrape of his palm against hers. The calluses were on his right hand now. Because he trusted her. Believed her when she said she could give him back his career. God, she hoped he was right.
Shawnee’s phone buzzed. She read the message and frowned before turning her attention back to Delon. “One last thing—you’re over that little fantasy about settling down with Violet to make a proper family for your boy, right?”
“Yes.” He spat the word out like a rotten sunflower seed.
“Good. That’s real good.” Shawnee held up the phone. “’Cuz according to my sources, Joe Cassidy just got down on one knee in the middle of the dance floor at the Lone Steer and asked her to marry him.”
Tangled in Texas Page 22
