Hell on Heels (7 page)

Their gazes met, then hers flickered downward, lingering far too long on his crotch. Her flush confirmed that she was thinking exactly like he was thinking. Even as pissed off as he was, he was having a damned hard time keeping his hands to himself. For the next twenty seconds he let his imagination run wild. They were back in the office. She was splayed out on the desk again, but this time he was buried to the hilt in her. The elevator dinged, ending his fantasy.

“Did you want to
get off
now, Ms. Brandt? Or maybe you'd like to stay and let me take care of that for you?”

“Thanks for the offer, cowboy, but I'm quite able to
take care
of myself.”

Fuck.
That was one image he didn't need. As if on command, his dick stirred back to life. His balls still ached something fierce, and nothing but release was going to bring him any relief.

She exited the elevator with a wordless smirk.

They may have called a truce, but the war was far from over.

T
y pulled into the private rehabilitation facility with a powerful sense of guilt. He hadn't visited Tom since they'd moved him out here, almost a week ago. Part of it was to avoid Monica, who'd stayed by Tom's side while he adjusted to his new surroundings, but the other reason was for Tom's sake.

It was agony to see such a robust man laid so goddamned low, but he knew it was far worse for Tom to be seen in such a weak and helpless condition. So he'd stayed away to give him time to adjust and come to grips with the situation. In the meantime, Ty had done his best to focus on work and not worry about what he was going to do when his fifty-three days (and quickly counting down) expired. He still hadn't a damned clue.

His other reason for staying away secretly shamed him. Since childhood, he'd had a bone-deep revulsion of nursing homes—the noises, the smells, the oppressive atmosphere. He remembered visiting his great granny when they'd had to put her in a facility after she lost her mind to dementia. Even now the recollections made his skin crawl.

He knew Monica would see that Tom had the best care, but he was still shocked to walk into the vaulted-ceilinged, marble-tiled foyer of The Oasis, with a reception area that wasn't far removed from that of a luxury boutique hotel on The Strip. After he signed in at the security desk, a nurse escorted him to Tom's room. She was fortyish and surprisingly attractive. He wondered in bemusement if they recruited ex-showgirls as nurses. He chuckled at the thought. Tom would like that.

Monica was just leaving Tom's room when he arrived. “I'm glad you came,” she said, her forehead etched with worry lines.

“Oh? How is he?” Ty asked, instantly anxious.

She leaned against the door with a sigh. “Not good, I'm afraid. Not good at all. The doctors said there's minimal damage to his cognitive functions, but he won't cooperate with his therapists. He won't even make eye contact with anyone. I know he can hear me, but he just stares off into space. I don't know what to do, how to get through to him.”

She looked close to waterworks, which surprised him. The last thing he'd ever have anticipated from Monica Brandt was a tearful breakdown.

“First off,” he said, “you can't ever help someone who won't help themselves. Get that straight from the start, Ms. Brandt. He's got to want it for himself. Maybe that'll come in time, but right now he'd probably rather be dead.”

She glared back at him. “How can you say such a callous thing?” He was relieved to see her pupils flare. He could deal with her pissed off, but he wasn't sure he could handle her softer side.

“Because it's the truth,” he replied evenly. “I'm a like-minded man, and that's exactly how I'd feel if I were in his boots.”

“But that doesn't make any sense at all. At least he's alive!”

“But what kind of life is he going to have? This man is used to greeting each day at sunrise. For over fifty years he's worked his own ranch. Now he's confined to a bed. Adjustment is going to be a process. It's going to take him some time . . . if he ever does adjust at all. One thing's for damn sure, you can't force your will on him.”

Her face registered outrage, but then she suddenly crumbled, throwing herself against him with a sob. “I'm not ready to lose him, Ty. I can't!” Just as he feared, her emotional reaction ambushed him. At a loss, he just held her in his arms and let her wail. “It's not fair,” she bawled. “We've only had a few years together. We're still getting to know each other.”

He cupped her head and stroked her back, making soothing noises he didn't even recognize, but after only a minute or two, she managed to pull herself back together.

She pushed away, palming her red-rimmed eyes with a sniff. “That was damned embarrassing. I'm sorry I did that to you, Ty. It's just—”

“There's no need to be embarrassed,” he reassured. “You're human. You're allowed to feel. Hell, I'm damned glad to know you do.”

“Do you think you can get through to him?” she asked. “I sure can't.”

“I dunno.” He gave a fateful shrug. “But I promise I'll try. I told you he means as much to me as he does to you. We're about the only family he has, you and me.”

“Thank you, Ty. I believe that now. I'm sorry I doubted you in the beginning—”

“I don't hold grudges,” he stemmed the apology. “Let's just move forward and try to cooperate from here on out, if only for Tom's sake.”

She returned a fierce look. “Don't mistake emotion with weakness, Ty. Don't think for a minute that you can sweet-talk me into changing my mind about selling the hotel.”

She still tried to play tough, but her body language told Ty she wasn't as self-assured as she pretended to be. On the outside Monica Brandt was all ballsy bravado, but once you got beneath the surface, she was nothin' more than a mouse that roared.

He suppressed a smile. “I'd never make that mistake, Sugar.”

“Good. Then we'll talk again tomorrow.”

Ty watched her walk away, enjoying the view. She was the most contradictory and confounding woman he'd ever known. Seeing more of what simmered beneath her surface only increased his fascination with her.

With a shake of his head, he knocked on Tom's door. As Monica had warned, Tom didn't even turn his head to acknowledge Ty's entrance. He was staring out the window at the gurgling fountain in the middle of a small walled courtyard. Ty waited a minute or two and then walked around to the far side of the bed, inserting himself into Tom's line of vision.

“Hey, ol' man. I hear you're being one stubborn sonofabitch, but I guess that's to be expected.”

Tom didn't meet his gaze, but the left corner of his mouth twitched.

“Not bad digs you have here. And all you have to do is push a button to have beautiful women at your beck and call? Not a bad deal at all. What's this?” Ty retrieved an iPad sitting on a tray beside the bed. He scrolled through the apps, discovering one with icons designed to assist the speech impaired. “It looks like all you have to do is touch the screen. I think even an old dog like you can handle that.”

His remark brought no response. Ty dropped the device and plopped into the chair beside the bed. “Monica's worried about you.”

Tom's gaze flickered.

“She was real upset when she left. Thinks you're shutting her out. Hell, she even got snot all over my favorite shirt.”

Tom glanced his way with another mouth twitch.

“Yeah, she was a real waterfall for a minute or two. She loves you, Tom. She wants more time with you. Hell, I do too.” Ty watched with bated breath as Tom's hand inched toward the iPad. After a few taps on the screen, Ty stood to read it.

Forked? It took Ty a moment to realize the software had an autocorrect feature with an obscenity filter.

Shoot me Ty.
Tom's eyes misted with tears of frustration.

Ty had never felt so helpless. “Hell, Tom.” He threw his hat down with a groan and paced the room. “I can't even imagine what you're going through, but you know I can't do that.”

Tom glared back at him and pounded out another message.
Don't wanna live like this.

“I know that, Tom. But we don't want to lose you. Please don't shut us out. Maybe in time it'll get better—

Tom tapped the screen again.
Want Rosa.

“Rosa?” Shit! Ty hadn't even thought of calling her. It wouldn't have occurred to Monica either, but Rosa was probably going out of her mind with worry by now. Tom was used to coming and going as he pleased, but he never would have let two weeks pass without calling her.

“You want me to bring her out here? You want her to come and take care of you?”

Three taps. All caps.
YES.

“I'm on it,” Ty said. “I'll get her on the next plane.”

More taps.
Won't fly.

Ah, hell.
Now he understood why Rosa never came to Vegas with Tom. “If that's the case, I'll fly out there and drive her back myself.”

Oklahoma to Vegas was a long-ass drive that he'd done countless times over the years. He just hoped Rosa wouldn't give him any shit about leaving. He wanted to get in and out of Oklahoma quickly and quietly. The last thing he needed was a run-in with his ex-wife, Delaney, but he'd never be able to avoid it if she got wind that he was coming. He did a quick calculation. Three days. One night at the ranch and then two more to drive back to Vegas.

“I figure I'll be gone two or three days,” he told Tom. “Is there anything else you need before I leave?”

Several taps followed.
Food sux.

Ty knew Tom was on a strict soft diet, a miserable thing for a man who loved a good steak. “I can't do much about that, but I'll tell you what. When I return with Rosa, we'll smuggle in that chocolate shake you love from the Heart Attack Grill.” At thirty percent butterfat, the shake was incredibly unhealthy, but also one of Tom's favorite indulgences.

Thx.
Tom shut his eyes.

Ty recognized it as his sign to leave. “I'll be back soon with Rosa and a chocolate shake. Maybe then you won't be such an ornery bastard.” He squeezed Tom's hand.

Tom squeezed back.

It wasn't much, but it was certainly a start.

 

Monica left The Oasis, unsure what to do with herself. Now that she and Ty had reached a détente, perhaps it was time for her to learn a bit more about the hotel operation. Instead of returning to the suite at the Skylofts, she instructed her driver to take her back to the Hotel Rodeo on the north end of The Strip.

“How long have you been in Vegas?” she asked the chauffeur.

“Over forty years, Ms. Brandt. Came out in the seventies and never went back to Jersey.”

“Really? You're from Jersey?”

“Hoboken,” he replied. “Sinatra's hometown. He was my ma's idol; she even named me after ol' blue yes.”

“Frank?”

“Yeah, but I go by Frankie, Frankie Dafino.”

“And you've never been back to Jersey? You don't miss the East Coast?”

“Nope. I like the desert, but it ain't like it was in the old days. Back then the Sands was the hot spot in Vegas. It was right over there,” he pointed as they passed the Venetian. “I watched them demolish it. They imploded almost all the landmarks back in the nineties. One by one, they all fell to wrecking balls. Now it's a different place, but I'll never leave.”

“Maybe you can give me the grand tour later?” Monica suggested. “Given the critical situation with my father, I haven't had much opportunity to explore. Now that it looks like I'm here for the long haul, I should learn my way around.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Brandt. Nobody knows this town better than Frankie Dafino.” A few minutes later he pulled up to the hotel. “You want me to wait for you?”

“No, Frankie, that won't be necessary. I don't know how long I'll be. I'll text you when I need a ride back to the Skylofts.”

Monica waited for the limo to drive off and then stepped back to take a long, appraising look at the Hotel Rodeo. Like Circus Circus, not far down The Strip, it was past its heyday and probably should have been torn down a full decade ago. Although not as hideous as the huge clown face, the hokey neon cowboy was still an eyesore that almost made her shudder.

Was it just foolish sentimentality on Tom's part that had kept this place open? Although she didn't agree with his ideas about renovating, at least Ty had the sense to recognize that the old place had to come down.

For the past two weeks she'd done nothing but breeze in and out. She spent her few hours apart from Tom reviewing the accounts in the CEO's office on the dubiously named penthouse floor. At only ten stories up, it didn't offer a view of much of anything besides the parking lot. She wondered what the rest of the place was like.

From what little she'd seen so far, the Old West–themed Last Chance Saloon appeared to be the hub of the hotel. She guessed that would be the best place to start learning about the operation—and maybe a bit more about the man behind it.

“What can I get you, Ms. Brandt?” asked the bartender, dashing any hope of an incognito observation.

“I guess word spreads fast around here,” Monica remarked dryly.

The bartender grinned. She was an attractive Latina in a western hat, halter top, and fringed cowboy chaps, all black, a costume that accentuated every voluptuous curve.

“We're pretty tight here. I'm Gabriela.” She offered her hand. “But I usually go by Gabby. What's your poison, Ms. Brandt?”

“Do you have Calvados?”

“Sorry.” Gabby shook her head apologetically. “Most of our patrons go for the lower shelf, but I can order some in if you like.”

“Yes, please. Since it looks like I'll be here for a while, go ahead and order a case. You can put it on my personal tab. In the meantime, I'll take a Grey Goose martini, up with a twist.”

Monica's gaze scanned the bar as Gabby mixed the drink. The interior was dark, with an uninspiring hokey Western décor. Lining the walls were slot and video-poker machines. There were only a few patrons, mostly older men in cowboy hats drinking beer and smoking. Her nostrils flared in disgust. She hated smoking. Thankfully she rarely had to deal with it anymore in Manhattan, with the exception of an occasional cigar bar that enamored Evan.

“How long have you been here, Gabby?”