Do Me Right (10 page)

He flushed beneath his tan. "A wild mustang. And it has nothing to do with sex."

She forced herself to look him in the eye, though her mind had definitely wandered farther south. "Okay, so why a wild mustang?"

"They're just about the most independent cusses you'll ever meet."

She laughed. "So you see yourself as having something in common?"

"Let's just say I like to go my own way. Thought it might be good to send the message right here on my arm."

She thought a moment, then took a pen and drew on his bicep. His arm was hard, brown and sexy as hell, though why this one should be any sexier than the hundreds of others she'd decorated she didn't want to think about too much. "How's that?" She handed him a mirror.

He studied the design of a horse reared up on its hind legs, pawing at the air, and grinned. "You draw a heck of a lot better than I do." He returned the mirror. "I'll take it."

"Are you sure? It's permanent, you know."

"I know." He lay back in the chair. "Do your worst."

She'd finished prepping him and was ready to start the needlework when they heard sirens. Scott went to the front window and looked out. "Uh-oh," he said.

"What is it?"

"Looks like the police chief. And he's headed this way."

She joined Scott at the front counter and stared out the window at the tall, broad-shouldered man who was making his way through the crowd toward the shop. "That's him all right." She felt as if she'd swallowed rocks. If Grant Truitt was showing up here, it couldn't be good.

"I'm impressed." Kyle came to stand beside her. "Not only did the cops not ignore your call, they sent the head honcho."

She shook her head. "I don't think that's good news. We've had some run-ins with the chief before."

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "I guess you could say there's bad blood between us."

Of course she hadn't seen him since the day he and Zach had apparently made their peace, but as far as she knew, he still had a poor opinion of Austin Body Art. After all, he'd been one of the chief instigators of the mayor's original Family-Friendly Austin campaign. It stood to reason he was "Clean" Carter's buddy, too.

The door to the shop opened and Chief Truitt stepped inside, followed by a uniformed officer. "I understand someone from here called in a complaint?"

"I did." She stepped forward, hands at her sides, not sure if she should offer to shake or keep her distance. Seeing the frown on his face, she opted for remaining aloof. "The crowd out there is blocking the entrance to my place of business. My customers can't get through." She nodded to the packages still stacked on the counter. "The UPS man couldn't even get past them to make his delivery."

He nodded. "It's Theresa, isn't it?"

"That's right. Theresa Jacobs."

"I'm not likely to forget the last name, am I?" He looked around the shop, his eyes coming to rest on the framed oil painting over the cash register. "That's new, isn't it?"

She followed his gaze to the painting. "Zach sent it last month."

He nodded. "I thought I recognized his work." He glanced at her. "He still hasn't given me one for my collection. I've even offered to pay him, but he won't hear of it."

She suppressed a smile. If she knew her brother, he was enjoying making his former enemy beg for a painting. "He's probably waiting for exactly the right work."

"That's what he tells me." He put his hand on the doorknob. "Sorry about the trouble with the crowd. We'll take care of them."

He nodded to the others, then left, the uniformed officer trailing in his wake. As soon as the door shut, Kyle turned to Theresa. "That didn't sound like bad blood to me. He talked like he and your brother know each other pretty well."

She nodded. "I guess they do, since Zach is seeing his daughter."

"Whoa." Kyle looked toward the chief, who was moving away from them through the crowd, then turned back to Theresa. "Your brother's girlfriend is the police chief's daughter?"

She nodded. "Jen Truitt is a dancer with a hip-hop revue in Chicago."

He grinned. "I get it. So that's why Zach is going to art school in Chicago instead of here. And the chief is apparently an admirer of his art."

"He's a big art collector. He's got a room full of paintings and stuff at his house."

"You've been there?"

She shrugged. "Once." It still felt awkward thinking of herself as being on friendly terms with the most powerful law-enforcement officer in the city. She'd spent too many years avoiding anything to do with the cops.

"Hey, the crowd's moving away from the doors." Scott stood and walked to the window. "There's a whole bunch of cops telling them to get out of the way."

She watched in amazement as the walkway in front of the shop cleared. The crowd gradually retreated all the way to the corner.

She stepped out onto the sidewalk, followed by Kyle and Scott. Chief Truitt was standing across the street, talking with a scowling man in a white shirt and bright red tie. "Who's that he's talking to?" Kyle asked.

"That's Darryl 'Clean' Carter."

"He doesn't look too happy at the moment."

"No. He looks pretty pissed." In fact, he was gesturing wildly, all red-faced and squinty-eyed. But the chief looked unfazed. He merely shook his head and pointed down the street. After a tense few minutes, Carter stalked away and Truitt headed back toward his car.

Theresa rushed out the door and across the street and intercepted him. "Chief, wait," she called.

He turned and waited for her to catch up. "Is there something else?"

"I just wanted to thank you for getting rid of the crowd."

"I merely pointed out that the right to assemble does not include the right to obstruct the sidewalk or interfere with access to a business. City ordinances require people to remain a reasonable distance from all rights-of-way."

"Mr. Carter didn't look too happy about it."

"I learned early on that if I was doing my job right, there would always be someone unhappy with me."

She couldn't help but smile at that. "But I thought you were on his side."

"I'm on the side of the law. And the law says you have a right to conduct business without being harassed."

"Still, I thought you didn't approve of my business." She straightened. "I seem to recall you making an effort to shut it down not that long ago."

He frowned. "I guess I've changed my mind about a few things since then."

"What? You decided tattoos are a good thing?" She grinned. "Whenever you're ready, I'll do you a tat--on the house."

His frown deepened. "I have no desire to get a tattoo. But I've accepted that it's the fashion these days. And I certainly know there are far worse things people could be doing--and are doing. Now I'd better get back to work."

"Thanks, anyway. No matter what you say, I know you didn't have to personally come here to take care of this. I appreciate it."

"Make sure your brother knows that. Tell him I'm still waiting for my painting."

"I'll do that." She watched as he got into his car and drove away, then she walked back across the street to Kyle.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "It's better. Come on inside and we'll finish that tattoo."

"All right. Then can we go have lunch somewhere? All this politicking is giving me an appetite."

"When I get through with you, you may have lost your appetite."

The faint lines around his eyes deepened. "What are you talking about? People get tattoos all the time."

"Yes, but it's only fair to warn you--the biggest, toughest guys often end up being the ones who whimper the most."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you--making me whimper?"

She looked him up and down, making sure he registered the heat in her gaze. "Oh, yeah. I'd love to hear you beg me to put you out of your misery."

"Is that a promise?" He leaned close, his hot breath against her ear sending a shiver up her spine. "Because I'd love to see you try."

She chuckled and slicked her tongue across her lips. Maybe they could have more than food for lunch. After all, her apartment wasn't that far away....

"Cut it out, you two," Scott said from his perch behind the counter. "You keep looking at each other like that and I'm going to have to go home and take a cold shower."

She hooked her finger in Kyle's belt loop and tugged him toward the chair. "Come on, hot stuff. Let's get that tattoo. See what you're made of."

Later maybe they'd discuss the whole begging scenario. After all, they had more than a month left to keep each other entertained. There were plenty of things they hadn't tried...yet.

"You're tough. You can take it," he said.

"I'm tough all right." But she didn't sound too happy about it. In fact, she hadn't sounded happy about much of anything all morning, but then he guessed he couldn't blame her. Having to deal with a bunch of self-righteous strangers trying to put you out of business was enough to make anyone sour. "Come on. You'll feel better after you eat." He put his arm around her. At least that was what his mom had always preached. Sometimes it was even true.

They headed to Paradise Cafe and ordered burgers. They found a table by the window and settled in to eat. "So tell me about your brother and the police chief's daughter," Kyle said. "How did those two ever hook up?"

"She came in to get a tattoo, actually." Theresa swirled a French fry through a pool of ketchup. "It was weird, really. One of those things I thought only happened in books or the movies. The minute those two looked at each other, it was like instant connection." A half smile brought out faint dimples at the corners of her mouth. "Zach kept saying it didn't mean anything, but I knew it did. He was different when she was around. Like something had been missing and he'd suddenly found it." She shook her head and popped the fry into her mouth.

"I've known a few people who experienced that." He pulled the onion off his burger and set it aside. "But for most people I know, it comes on gradual. One day they're friends with someone, then they're a little bit better friends and the next thing you know, they're walking down the aisle. Or at least moving in together."

She picked up her burger, then set it back down again, her expression overly casual. "So...have you been in love before?"

"When I was in third grade I was absolutely sure I was going to marry Kara Stanley."

"And who was Kara Stanley?"

"Only the prettiest, sweetest, smartest girl in all of Cypress Creek Elementary School. She had blond pigtails and wore frilly pink dresses and won the spelling bee every year. All the boys wanted to marry her."

"Figures." She took a huge bite of burger and chewed furiously.

He congratulated himself on having dodged a loaded question, but he'd forgotten how tenacious Theresa could be. "Forget puppy love and school crushes," she said between bites of burger. "Have you ever
really
been in love?"

Why was she doing this? If he said yes, he'd been in love half a dozen times since he was sixteen, she'd think he was a fool. If he said he'd never been in love, she'd suspect he was a freak. "I've
thought
I was in love a few times," he said carefully. "But it never worked out."

"What happened?"

"What do you mean, what happened? Lots of things happened. Sometimes we got tired of each other. Or we ended up heading in different directions. One time I caught the woman I
thought
was the love of my life doing the horizontal mambo with my team roping partner." He took a long drink of Coke. "That was the beginning of my solo calf-roping career. So I guess I can't be too upset. I'm a lot better calf roper than I was a heeler or a header. And she turned into a neurotic witch."

"I guess you came out ahead on that one, though it probably didn't seem like it at the time."

"No, it wasn't any fun at the time." He studied her. She was making patterns in the ketchup with a fry, her mind obviously a million miles away. Was she thinking about a former love of her own? And why did this bother him? "It's your turn," he said. "Have
you
ever been in love?"

"Me?" She laughed. "No, I've managed to avoid that." Her cheeks flushed, and she wouldn't look him in the eye. That gave him some interesting, even useful information: she was a terrible liar.

"I didn't know it was something you could avoid," he said.

He continued eating, his eyes fixed on her, amused by the game of Truth or Dare they seemed to be caught in. Or rather, he was daring her to tell the truth, and she was trying to figure out how to get out of it.

After a moment, she sighed and pushed her plate away from her. "Maybe I thought I was in love once."

"Oh?"

She shifted in her chair. "I was just a kid. Nineteen. I thought I was pretty hot stuff, working weekends as a waitress in this fancy steak house. He was this good-looking executive type--big smile, expensive suits, flashing lots of money around. He asked me out and we started seeing each other pretty regular." She stirred her Coke with her straw. "I fell pretty hard, believed him when he said I was the best thing that ever happened to him."

Listening to her, watching the pain on her face, he got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wished he'd never asked the question. But he couldn't stop now. "What happened?"

She looked out the window, her expression grim. "He came into the restaurant one night with a gorgeous blonde. They actually sat at one of my tables, and he ignored me all evening while he fawned over her. And everybody who worked there knew I'd been dating the guy, so they all got to see me humiliated. Turned out she was his wife, and that was his subtle way of letting me know we were through."

He clenched his hands into fists, surprised at the anger that choked him. "What a bastard."

"It was my fault for being so trusting and naive. I mean, it's not like there weren't signs." She took a long drink of soda. "But after that I promised myself I'd be more careful."

So careful she'd apparently never let herself get too close to a man again. "Don't tell me one bad apple made you afraid to try again?" he said.

She frowned at him. "Oh, so if you lose an arm playing with hand grenades, you go out and risk the other one?"

"You didn't lose any body parts that I can see."

"That's what it felt like." She picked a piece of lettuce off her plate and popped it into her mouth. "Besides, it wasn't just him. It was other guys, too. They always wanted me to be something I wasn't. Softer, more feminine."

"You look pretty feminine to me." He let his eyes linger on the swell of cleavage at the neckline of her halter top. The way she dressed didn't leave any doubt that she was one-hundred-percent female. Not that he was complaining....

She shrugged. "Enough for a good-time girl. Not enough for a wife. At least that's the way it seems."

"Now wait a minute...." What kind of guys had she been hanging out with that she believed this load of crap?

"No, it's okay," she said. "I know I'm not like that. I like myself this way. That's all that counts."

I like you this way, too.
But he didn't say it. She wasn't in the mood to be flattered or placated. He tried another tack. "You know, there are men out there who appreciate a woman who can take care of herself," he said. "Personally I've never been much for the shrinking-violet type."

"You say that now. But the first time the toilet breaks and your wife fixes it without consulting you, or you eat frozen dinners for five nights in a row because she has more important things to do than cook, you won't think it's so wonderful."

"I guess that would depend on the woman and my feelings for her."

She shook her head. "No, really, it's not even your fault. You grew up on a ranch, right? In a traditional family? Dad worked, mom cooked and kept house and looked after the kids."

"
And
mom worked cattle and hauled hay and did everything my dad did. And my dad managed not to starve every year when Mama went to visit her sister for a week."

"But everybody still had their traditional roles, and things ran smoothly as long as they stuck to them. When you try to put someone like me, who isn't so traditional, into the mix, things get all messed up."

"Maybe tradition is overrated. After all, tradition says I should stay on the ranch and keep doing everything my daddy and my granddaddy did. Instead I'm doing everything I can to avoid that."

"Maybe that's why we get along so well." She checked her watch and pushed her chair back. "I'd better get back to the shop. Just in case some customers do decide to show up."

They split the bill and he followed her out onto the sidewalk, his gaze caught by the sway of her hips in the tight jeans she wore. She could protest all she wanted that she wasn't
traditional
or
feminine
. Those were just words, and who gave a damn what they meant? She'd let somebody else's rules and definitions mess with her head, though he suspected that was just an excuse she'd manufactured to keep from getting hurt again. Nothing like public humiliation to make a person skittish for years to come.

They were almost back to the shop when she stopped on the sidewalk and stared at the red, white and blue For Sale sign in the front window of the Waterloo Tavern. "When did that show up?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I haven't been paying attention."

"It wasn't there yesterday, I'm sure. I'd better find out what's going on." She pulled open the heavy oak door and went inside.

The tavern had the cool, dark atmosphere of all really good bars. Faux Tiffany beer lamps cast an amber glow over the dark wood booths and the pool tables lining one wall. The smell of grilled burgers, spicy chicken wings and beer lingered in the air. Kyle followed Theresa up to the wooden bar that ran the length of the room, the brass foot rail worn smooth from decades of boots propped on it. "Hey, Debby." Theresa nodded to the waitress. "Where's Axel?"

"Hey, Axel! T from next door's here to see you."

A balding old man with a face like a bulldog emerged from the back room. When he saw Theresa, his face split into a grin. "Come here, gorgeous, and make an old man happy," he said, holding his arms wide.

Theresa hugged him, then jerked her head toward the sign in the window. "What's with the For Sale sign?"

"What do you think it is? I'm selling this dump. You want to buy it? In which case, it isn't a dump, it's the best bar in the district."

"But why are you selling? I thought they were going to have to carry you out of here in a pine box."

He shook his head. "I just decided it's time to hang it up. My daughter's after me to move down to Houston to be closer to her and the kids. And I'm getting too old for all the shit that's been going on around here lately."

"You mean the protesters?" Kyle stepped forward and offered his hand. "I'm Kyle Cameron. A friend of Theresa's."

The old man looked him up and down and he grinned again. "You don't look like most of Theresa's friends." His gaze fixed on the silver-and-gold buckle on Kyle's belt. "That thing real?"

He glanced at the buckle. "Yeah. First place, calf roping, Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo, 1998."

Axel nodded, then turned back to Theresa. "These rightwing nuts can have the whole place for all I care," he said. "I'm gonna find a little place near my kid and spend all day watching game shows and taking naps in the recliner. You come see me sometime."

"I hate to hear that," she said. "The street won't be the same without you here."

"Ah, it'll never be the same again anyway." He nodded to the sign. "You hear of anybody wants to buy a bar, you send 'em to me." He grinned. "And don't be surprised if I send a few lookers over your way. I figure lettin' 'em know I got a good-lookin' neighbor could be a good selling point."

She laughed and punched his shoulder. "You're a dirty old man, you know that?"

"Just a man, sweetheart. A man who appreciates the finer things in life." He waggled his eyebrows and leered at her chest.

She gave him a hug before she and Kyle left. But the smile she'd worn inside faded as soon as they were on the sidewalk again. "I can't believe he's selling," she said, shaking her head at the real-estate sign. "Those damn protesters are changing everything."

Change is part of life.
But that sounded too sanctimonious to his ears, and besides, she needed cheering up, not preaching to. He needed to make her laugh, make her forget her troubles for a while. He rubbed her shoulder. "I'll come by your place tonight."

She shook her head. "I don't think so. I'm in a lousy mood. I wouldn't be good company."

"I'll put you in a better mood." He smiled. "I've got a surprise."

"What is it?" She looked suspicious.

"If I tell you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?" He kissed her cheek. "But you'll like it. I promise." And with any luck, he'd like it, too.