Texas! Lucky (3 page)

"Hell, it's not our fault the price of crude fell drastically and has stayed so damned low." It was an argument that didn't need voicing. The faltering oil market and its disastrous effect on the Texas economy weren't of their making, but they were suffering the consequences just the same. The equipment Tyler Drilling leased out had been so inactive over the last several months, they had joked about storing it in mothballs. The brothers were frantically trying to come up with an idea for diversification that would generate business and income. In the meantime the bank was becoming less and less tolerant of any outstanding loans. Though most of the board members were lifelong friends, they couldn't afford to be sympathetic indefinitely when so many banks across the nation, and particularly in Texas, were failing.

"The best we can do," Chase had said, "is show them our intent to pay when we can, try to drum up business, and stay out of trouble."

"That last remark is aimed at me, I guess."

Chase had smiled good-naturedly at his younger brother. "Now that I'm settled down with a loving wife, you're the tomcat of the family. You're expected to sow a few wild oats."

"Well, those days might be coming to a close," Lucky had remarked unhappily.

His brother, shrewdly picking up on the veiled reference, asked, "How
is
Susan?"

Being reminded of her now made Lucky groan. Or maybe he groaned because, when he turned the Mustang onto the entrance ramp of the interstate highway and pushed it through the forward gears, the cut across his belly pulled apart again and started to ache.

"Damn that woman," he cursed as he floorboarded the convertible in order to close the distance between him and the winking taillights he was following.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do when he actually caught her. Probably nothing more than demand an apology for the snooty way she'd treated him after he'd risked life and limb to protect her from sexual harassment.

However, thinking back on the contemptuous way she'd looked him over, as if he were a piece of bubble gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe, he figured an apology wasn't going to come easily. She didn't seem the simpering type.

Women. They were his bane and his delight. Couldn't live with them. Sure as hell couldn't live without them. He had vowed to abstain numerous times after particularly harrowing love affairs, but he knew it was a vow he'd never keep.

He loved women—their clothes, their paraphernalia, their scent. He liked their giggles and their tears, and, even though it often drove him to distraction, their persistent attention to detail. He liked everything about them that made them different from himself, from their maddening habit of paying with change in favor of breaking a bill to the way their bodies were made. In Lucky's educated opinion, about the best thing God ever created was a woman's skin.

But out of bed they were a royal pain.

Take that young divorcee in Marshall, for instance. She was a complainer, and could whine until the sound of her voice was as offensive as fingernails on a chalkboard. The only time she wasn't griping about something was when they were in bed. There, she purred.

Another of his most recent liaisons had been with a gold digger. If he didn't bring her a gift each time he saw her, any kind of trinket, she swelled up with affront. Only hours of loving could coax her back into a good mood. Then there was the clerk at the drugstore. In bed she was clever and innovative. Out of it, she wasn't as smart as the nearest fence post.

Susan Young was just the opposite. She was smart. Maybe too smart. He suspected that she was withholding sexual favors not because of any moral scruples, but because she wanted him standing at the altar all dressed up in a tuxedo and watching her as she glided down the aisle of First Methodist Church in a long white gown to the tempo of the wedding march from
Lohengrin
.

After his discouraging meeting with Chase that morning, Lucky had kept his lunch date with Susan at the home she shared with her parents. Her father, George, was CEO of the bank that held Tyler Drilling's note. They lived in an impressive home on one-and-a-half perfectly manicured acres in the center of town. As soon as the maid had cleared away the dishes, George had returned to the bank and Mrs. Young had excused herself to go upstairs, leaving Lucky alone with Susan.

He had pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Smacking his lips when they pulled apart, he sighed. "Better than Clara's strawberry shortcake," he said, referring to the sumptuous dessert the housekeeper had served.

"Sometimes I think all you want from me is kisses."

His eyes moved over her, taking in her affected pout and the small, impudent breasts that jutted against her blouse. He covered one with his hand. "That's not all I want."

Susan squirmed away from him. "Lucky Tyler, will you behave? My mama's upstairs, and Clara's in the kitchen."

"Then let's go someplace else," he suggested on a burst of inspiration. Their house was formal and somber and unpleasantly reminded him of a funeral home, which put a damper on romance. In that environment it was little wonder Susan was holding out. "I've got to drive over toward Henderson this afternoon and see a man on business. Why don't you come along?"

She declined with an adamant shake of her head. "You drive too fast. With the top down, my hair gets blown all over the place."

"Honey, with what I have in mind, it'll get messed up anyway," he drawled, pulling her against him again. This time she participated more actively in their kiss. By the time they came up for air, Lucky was hot and ready. Then Susan had ruined his arousal by mentioning her father.

"Promise not to get mad if I tell you something." Experience had taught him that those words usually prefaced something that was going to make him mad, but he gave her his promise anyway. She didn't meet his eyes as she played with the buttons on his shirt.

"Daddy's worried about me spending so much time with you."

"Why's that? He seemed polite enough at lunch."

"He's always polite. But he's still not thrilled about our going out lately."

"Why not?"

"You
do
have a reputation, you know. A reputation that nice girls like me aren't even supposed to know about."

"Oh yeah?" She wasn't so nice that she balked when his hand ventured beneath her full skirt and stroked the back of her thigh.

"He asked me what your intentions were, and I had to tell him that I honestly don't know."

He was already bored with the topic of George Young and entranced by the expanse of smooth thigh he was caressing, but the word "intentions" set off alarms inside his head. He withdrew his hand and took several steps away from her. While she had his undivided attention, she drove home her point.

"Of course, Daddy never discusses his banking business with me," she said with a calculated batting of eyelashes, "but I get the distinct impression that he's afraid to extend a loan to a man who isn't settled down. You know, married and all."

Lucky hastily consulted his wristwatch.

"Gee, it's getting late. If I can't talk you into going with me, I need to get on the road. Don't want to miss that appointment." He headed for the door.

"Lucky?"

"Hmm?"

Moving to face him and looping her arms around the back of his neck, she arched the front of her body against his. She came up on tiptoe and placed her lips near his ear, whispering, "Daddy would almost have to extend your loan if you were family, wouldn't he?"

He had given her a sick smile and beat a quick retreat, after promising to join them for dinner that evening at seven-thirty. He wasn't ready to get married. Not to Susan. Not to anybody. Not by a long shot.

He liked Susan well enough. He wanted to get her into bed, but mainly because he hadn't yet managed to. She was spoiled and would be hell to live with. Besides, he strongly suspected that she wouldn't be all that great a lover. He believed that for her, sex would be a form of currency, not pleasure.

He liked his women willing, active, and enjoying the tumble as much as he did. Damned if he wanted a wife who swapped him favor for favor, or one who withheld bedroom privileges until she got her way. No, he hoped Susan Young wasn't holding her breath until he got down on bended knee and asked for her hand in marriage. She would turn blue in the face before that ever happened.

And as soon as he could get to a phone, he would need to call and cancel their dinner date. She would be upset, but he sure as hell couldn't show up at the Youngs' dinner table with his face looking the way it did.

"Women," he muttered with disgust as he took the exit ramp behind the saucy red compact.

Chapter 3

L
ucky pulled into the paved parking lot about ninety seconds behind the woman. The roadside complex comprised a U-shaped, two-story motel, a restaurant boasting the best chicken-fried steak in the state—which he seriously doubted—a gas station with dozens of pumps, and a combination liquor and convenience store.

She had gone into the restaurant. Through the plate-glass window Lucky watched a waitress show her to a table. In a short while she was brought what appeared to be a club sandwich. How could she think of food? He felt like hell. Eating was out of the question. Easing himself out of his car and keeping away from the window so she wouldn't see him, he limped toward the convenience store.

"What happened to you, buddy? Get hit by a Mack truck?"

"Something like that," Lucky replied to the cheerful clerk who rang up his purchases. He bought a pint bottle of whiskey, a tin of aspirin, and a raw steak. Because the gray meat was turning green around the edges, it had been marked down. It was unfit for human consumption, but that wasn't what he had in mind anyway.

"Does the other guy look better or worse?" the curious clerk asked.

Lucky gave him a lopsided grin. "He looks okay, but he feels a hell of a lot worse." Returning to his car, he slumped in the white leather seat behind the wheel, uncapped the bottle, and washed down three aspirins with his first swig of whiskey. He had just unwrapped the smelly steak when he saw the woman emerge from the restaurant. Because he had been anticipating how good it was going to feel to place the cool meat on his throbbing eye, he was cursing beneath his breath when he reached for the car door handle, prepared to open it.

He paused, however, when she walked down the sidewalk and entered the check-in office of the motel. Within a few minutes she came out with a room key.