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Authors: Kimberly Raye

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BOOK: Gettin' Lucky (Love and Laughter)

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She nodded. “Wine, Helen.” A woman. A real woman.

“And behave yourself.” His gaze narrowed. “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” she mumbled, waving him off just as Jed reached the top step outside.

Tyler stared at her, his face serious, contemplating for the space of two heartbeats. He strode over to give her a quick, hungry kiss. Then he was gone, the door closing behind him.

Once the voices outside faded, she crawled out of bed and floated into the small office bathroom. Her body tingled, her insides ached.

A woman!

She looked the same, she thought as she gazed into the mirror, yet she didn’t. There was something about her eyes—a knowing that lit up the dark depths. And her mouth—pink and swollen from a night of passionate kisses. And her cheeks—full and rosy. She looked... like a woman.

“Eat your heart out, Marlon. You’ve been replaced.”

O
KAY, so maybe Lucky had fibbed when she’d promised to behave. But everybody knew you didn’t let a car sit for days on end without letting the engine run a few minutes, and it had been so long since she’d been behind the wheel of her cab. Besides, with Helen still busy trying to line up a new band for her gala—the first
three
had miraculously cancelled—and Bernadette tasting practice pies for Mabel’s entry in the annual Hickory pie competition, the coast was clear. And Lucky needed something, anything, to keep her mind off last night.

She still couldn’t believe it. She’d floated through most of the morning, happy and dazed. Then she’d encountered Tyler out by the barn, getting ready to ride out, and reality had set in. She’d given him a brilliant smile and he’d barely tipped his hat. His face had been a stoic mask, his eyes shuttered with regret. A mistake, his look told her. We made a mistake.

So maybe they had in terms of their situation, but Lucky refused to let that fact color her happiness. This was her moment of triumph. Victory. She’d lost her virginity and she’d loved every moment. She refused to feel ashamed or regretful for something so wonderful, so...right, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

She forced Tyler from her thoughts and climbed into her cab. The engine purred to life. Ahhh. Her Chevy she could count on. Men would come and go, but this car would always be there. No matter what she looked like, how small her breasts, how long her legs. The engine missed, sputtered, and her happiness dissolved.

“Et tu, Brute?”

She had the sleeves of her navy silk blouse rolled up, her toolbox out of the trunk and the hood popped in that next instant. Relief swept through her. Just a bad plug.

“Hey there, Miss Lucky.”

“Billy?” Panic swept through her as she stared at the pudgy officer outlined in the open garage door. “What are you doing here?”

“Me and Hank came out to talk to Tyler, but he ain’t here.”

“Um, Billy, you didn’t happen to see Tyler’s mother-in-law, did you?” The last thing she needed was Billy and Hank blowing her cover.

“Cain’t say that I had that pleasure. Mabel said she was taking a nap, something about a headache over some fund-raiser.”

Thank heavens, Lucky thought.

“Hank’s in the kitchen saying hello to Ulysses,” Billy went on. “But he’ll be along any minute. Haven’t seen much of Ulysses since his surgery. We miss him at bingo. Nice old guy —”

“Billy!” Hank came barreling around the side of the house. “What the hell did you do to the patrol car?”

“I turned it off.”

“Well, the engine won’t start.”

“Hi, Mr. Hank,” Lucky said.

He spared her a quick glance and said, “Howdy, little lady,” then did a fast double take. “
You’re
the city gal Ulysses was talking about?”

“Yep,” Billy chimed in. “She’s Tyler’s temporary nanny.”

“How temporary?” Hank asked.

“Two weeks. One down. One to go.”

“Good,” he grumbled, turning toward Billy. “The blasted battery’s dead or somethin’.”

“Does it make any sound?” Lucky asked.

“Not a peep,” Hank replied, his comment directed at Billy.

“Then it’s probably not the battery,” Lucky said. “Unless it’s old.”

“Battery’s brand new,” he said over his shoulder.

“What about the connectors?”

“They’re fine, too. Now, Billy, I want you to go call Jess and tell him I need him out here —”

“Are you sure?” Lucky cut in. “Because if the engine’s not turning over, it’s obviously not getting any juice. And if the battery’s new, then it has to be the connectors.”

Hank glared. “And what do you know about connectors?”

Lucky rubbed her hands together. “Can I take a look?”

Billy nodded, Hank grumbled, and Lucky grabbed her toolbox and headed for the patrol car sitting out front. She popped the hood, took one look at the battery and smiled. “It’s your connectors, all right They’re corroded. You have to keep them clean. If you don’t get a good solid connection to your battery, it can be dangerous.” She spent the next half hour cleaning and replacing the connectors. The engine purred to life.

“Thanks,” Hank muttered grudgingly, shoving his hand out for a shake.

Lucky accepted the gesture, knowing it was probably harder for him than passing a kidney stone. “Any time.”

“When is Tyler going to be back?” Hank asked, once he and Billy had climbed into the car.

“Late tonight.”

“I already told Ulysses, but he was busy eating some of Mabel’s pie and I don’t know if he heard everything. We’ve got pictures being faxed to us from an airport in New York. Seems that thieving city woman tried to sell Tyler’s watch. A surveillance camera got her on tape. We need Tyler to identify her. Tell him to drive into town as soon as he can.”

“Did they catch her?”

“Dadblamed woman got away, but the police up there have a few leads. She purchased a plane ticket for Canada. They radioed the authorities there, and she’ll have quite a surprise waiting for her, if it is her. That’s what we need Tyler for. Ulysses never got a good look at her, what with his eyes and all, and Mabel says she thinks she can identify her, but she’d hate to be wrong, so that leaves Tyler.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him.”

“Thanks again, Miss Lucky,” Billy said.

“Yeah,” Hank agreed, and Lucky couldn’t help but smile.

An expression that dissolved the minute she turned and saw Helen standing in the library’s huge bay window, watching her.

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and waved.

Not that it did any good, she realized when she noted the grease covering her hands, the open toolbox at her feet.

As she packed up her tools, she contemplated climbing into her cab and making a run for it. Tyler was going to be mad as hell if Helen told him.

If
Helen had even seen anything. Maybe she’d just glanced out the window at that moment. Maybe she was nearsighted and had glimpsed nothing more than a few blobs of color. Maybe lightning would strike Lucky and she’d be spared having to explain anything to Tyler once he returned.

But then, Lucky Myers had never been very lucky.

Night fell crisp and clear, no lightning bolts in sight Not even a little thunder. Helen, as it turned out, had twenty-twenty eyesight, and had seen the entire car-fixing episode. Lucky’s ad-lib about the Scottish chauffeur showing her a bit of mechanical repair met with raised eyebrows. And even the wine-tasting notes Lucky recited that evening didn’t keep Helen from meeting Tyler at the kitchen door when he walked in a little after midnight.

“SHE WAS
WHAT?”
Tyler rubbed his tired eyes and tried to concentrate on what Helen was saying.

“Up to her elbows in grease. She was fixing the sheriff’s car. I saw it with my own two eyes. She’s not setting an acceptable example for Bernadette. And you know what? Louise Cromwell has never even heard of a wealthy oilman named Dale Stinson. I tell you, Tyler, something doesn’t add up with Miss Myers. And tonight...” She rolled her eyes. “Do you know what she wore to the table? White shoes. Not winter white, or cream or eggshell, but
white,
and it’s long past Labor Day.”

“By all means, let’s cut off her head.”

“I’m serious. This is not the sort of woman who should be instructing my granddaughter. You really should send Bernadette back to Houston with me. She’s dying to go home —”

“She said that?”

“Not in so many words, but she did say she missed going to the theater with me and playing tennis and shopping, and I don’t blame her one bit. You’re always off doing whatever, rounding up God knows what while she sits in this house, isolated with a woman who doesn’t know her white from her eggshell —”

“I’ll talk to Miss Myers.” When Helen didn’t look satisfied, he added, “And I’ll think about Smithston.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

If only she knew how much she was really asking. Tyler would sooner go head-to-head with an angry bull than see Bernadette caught between two people she loved. Had his daughter really missed theater and tennis and shopping?

Granted, she’d been behaving more like Helen and less like her old self for the past few days, but he’d thought it was her contribution to their charade. An act. But maybe...

God knew he’d been dead wrong before. Last night, for example.

A
virgin,
and all along he’d thought Lucky’s wide eyes, pouty lips and perfect body—so damned awkward and sexy at the same time—had all been a facade, her I’ve-never-been-kissed behavior a well-rehearsed act. But there was nothing rehearsed about Lucky, and that was the trouble. She was all too real. No fronts, no airs put on just for his benefit. She felt the chemistry between them and she didn’t hide her reaction to him and her. The two of them. Together.

Whoa, son. Back up. There was no together. So they’d had sex? Sex was just sex, even if it was with a virgin. Especially since it was with
this
virgin.

Used-to-be-virgin. He shook off the guilt. She’d made her choice, and he’d made her no promises. He hadn’t even hinted at the
C
-word. Hell, he hadn’t thought past the lust clouding his brain. He’d needed to touch her, taste her, smell her, and then he had and it had felt so... right.

What the hell was he thinking?

What happened between them was completely, totally, irrevocably
wrong.
She was a tough-talking, gum-chewing cabdriver from Houston. Not the sort of woman who should be raising his daughter.

Hey—who said anything about raising Bennie? Lucky was temporary. One more week and she’d be gone. One week... His libido sent a wave of images to taunt him. Boy, what he could do with her in one week—

Last night was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat no matter how much he wanted to. There was no future beyond her pretend nannyship. No happily-ever-after, with Helen breathing down his neck and the ranch weighing on his shoulders. He had too many problems and no answers. And Lucky definitely fit into the first category.

He needed a shower, a cup of coffee and a good kick in the butt, in no particular order.

“Daddy?” Bennie walked into the kitchen wearing a pink nightgown.

He did a double take. “A nightgown? What happened to your Simpsons T-shirt?”

“That’s old news, Daddy. Grandmother brought me this. You like it?”

“It’s...” Pink. “Pretty. Real pretty, honey.”

Bennie smiled. “I knew you’d like it. Grandmother said Mama used to wear one just like it when she was my age.” Her hair was tousled, her features pale. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, honey.” He rolled his head on his shoulders and sat down in a kitchen chair. She crawled into his lap and he rested his head on top of her soft hair. The smell of powder, soap and little girl sent a wave of affection through him and he hugged her. “I’m just tired.”

“Me, too.” She stifled another yawn.

“Late night?”

She nodded. “I was picking out my clothes for tomorrow. Grandmother and I are having brunch. Everybody who’s anybody has brunch. Anyway, it was a toss-up between the yellow lace or the peach silk. The yellow’s fine, but the peach brings out my complexion, don’t you think?” Without waiting for a reply, she kissed his cheek and climbed from his lap. “Get some sleep, Daddy.” Then she padded back to her room.

Picking out clothes? His I’d-rather-be-wearing-yesterday’s-jeans daughter? And
brunch
?

He pinched his leg to make sure he wasn’t having a nightmare. Ouch! So much for wishful thinking. He was stuck in reality with frilly pink nightgowns and peach silk brunch clothes and a mother-in-law who made Cinderella’s wicked stepmom look like Parent of the Year. And worst of all, he was stuck with a woman—yes, a woman now—he couldn’t have.

Forget reality. He was in hell.

TYLER FOUND Lucky bright and early the next morning near the garage, leaning under the hood of a ’64 pink El Dorado Cadillac, Earline’s pride and joy.

“I’m sorry to put you out like this, Lucky,” the beautician drawled, “but that no good Jess Mangrum is as drunk as a skunk and I’m afraid this thing is gonna up and quit on me if I don’t find out what all that noise is about. Billy said you sure were handy under the hood, so I thought what the hell?”

“No problem.” Lucky emerged from under the hood, a black fan belt dangling from her hands. “You need a new belt. I’ll tighten this one as best I can until you can get a new one.”

“You’re a honey, that’s what you are. Tyler’s lucky he found you. I hope he plans to keep you around for a while.”

“Not at this rate,” Tyler said as he came up beside Earline.

Lucky jumped. “Geez, you scared me.”

BOOK: Gettin' Lucky (Love and Laughter)

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