Stroke of Fortune (11 page)

“But—”

“No more buts. Just say yes or no.”

“Flynt, I—”

“Josie, yes or no?”

“Oh, all right.”

“Damn. Was that a yes? Finally?”

“Very funny. You know, I've heard the food's not very good at the Empire Room.”

He put on a scowl. “Who told you that?”

“Oh, please. If I tell you who told me, some head somewhere would probably roll.”

“You have an inflated idea of my influence.”

“No, I do not and— Wait a minute. Who's going to watch Lena?”

“That's not your problem. You're off for the weekend anyway at six, aren't you?”

“Yes. And I'm going to need a few hours before that, too.”

“Because?”

The look she gave him then was infinitely superior. “Fashion emergency.”

“What?”

“Flynt Carson, when a girl gets invited to the Empire Room and there are not even twenty-four hours between the invitation and the date—that is called a fashion emergency.”

“You mean you want to buy a new dress.”

“You are such a smart man.”

F
lynt was to pick Josie up at Alva's at eight. Cara relieved her at three the next afternoon.

“Big date, huh?” Cara was grinning.

“You heard?”

“I did. I think it's great—you and my big brother.”

“Too bad your mother doesn't feel the same way.”

“Just wait.”

“For what?”

“For her to realize he could be happy with you. That'll change her attitude. And it's not going to take that long, either.”

“You seem pretty certain.”

“Well, I do know my own mother. She's got her faults, but she's not blind. Pretty soon, she'll have to notice that Flynt has actually started smiling again now and then.”

“Oh, I hope so.”

“Don't worry. It will work out. Now, I heard you're going shopping.”

“I need a great dress and I need it now.”

“Try Mission Creek Creations.”

Josie tried not to wince. Mission Creek Creations
was the town's most exclusive dress shop. All the debs went there to have their fancy white dresses made to order for the annual Lone Star County Debutante Ball. It was also the place where brides from the best families found their beautiful, extravagant gowns, where professional women could get designer-label business clothes, not to mention a wide range of gorgeous, glittery things suitable for after-five. Josie probably could find exactly what she wanted in a place like that. Too bad it was way out of her price range.

Cara laughed. “Check the sale racks in back, on the ready-to-wear side. You'd be surprised the kind of bargains you can find.”

 

Though time was running short and she knew she ought to head for that nice, middle-of-the-road department store in the new mall out on Mission Creek Road, Josie threw good sense to the wind and took Cara's advice.

The shop was charming and very feminine, all in pink and white and gold—everything but the beautiful dresses, which came in a whole rainbow of colors. Josie longed to linger at each rack she passed. But one glance at the price tag dangling from a shimmering sleeve fixed that.

She strode purposefully to the back, where two big round racks had pretty pink signs propped up above
them, each printed with Sale in flowing gold script. She found her size and checked a few tags first.

Still very pricey.

But this was a big occasion and she wanted to look her best.

After a cursory glance at the first rack, she went on to the second one and started sliding the dresses around, looking for
the
dress, the one that was so perfect, so stunning, so absolutely wonderful, the giant price tag wouldn't even matter.

“This would look lovely on you.” The voice, soft and well-bred and vaguely familiar, came from behind Josie, at the other rack.

Josie turned—and had to bite back a sharp cry of dismay. She knew that face, that smooth, straight hair as black as a crow's wing. Those eyes the color of a Texas bluebonnet. She gulped. “Uh, Ms. Wainwright. How are you?”

“Hello, Josie.” Those violet eyes seemed a little bit worried—and, somehow, a little bit teasing, as well. “Call me Rose, please. We certainly know each other at least that well.”

“Yes. All right, Rose.” Josie kept picturing that embrace down in the dark garden at the Carson house, and then, right after, this woman's face tipped up toward the window, the moonlight making her pale skin glow.

“I do think this is a good color for you.” Rose held out a dress—a simple scoop-necked knee-length
sheath of some lovely, satiny fabric. It was a deep green in color, a green that seemed to change as light played over it, showing hints of a lighter green and gold and even black.

Josie took the dress. “Thanks. I'll try it.”

Rose remarked softly, “I haven't seen you at the library in a while.”

“I've been real busy. But I don't think I have any overdue books…”

“Hmm,” said Rose, her face so serious, it made Josie want to smile. “Overdue books. Yes. Now you know why I followed you in here. ‘A-ha,' I said to myself. ‘There's that Josie Lavender. I'll just go after her right here and now, and let her know what I think of the way she's let her fines pile up.”'

The two women stared at each other, and then, out of nowhere, they were both laughing—slightly frantic laughter, on both of their parts. They put their hands across their mouths and tried to hold it in, but it threatened to overpower them, right there between the two sale racks in the back of Mission Creek Creations.

“Is everything all right here?” The plump, kind-faced shop owner came bustling up to them.

Rose quickly composed herself, and Josie struggled to do the same. Rose said, “Oh, yes, Mrs. McKenzie. We're just fine. Just looking.”

“Well, good, then. How have you been, Rose?”

“I'm doing all right.” Rose introduced the shop
owner and told Josie, “Mrs. McKenzie made my deb dress a few years back.”

“Yes.” The shop owner patted Rose's arm. “Rose is one of my girls.” She touched Josie's shoulder. “I hope you're finding everything you need?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks.”

“You be sure to let me know if there's anything I can do.”

Rose took the green dress back from Josie and handed it to Mrs. McKenzie. “She'll be trying this one on.”

“A good choice.” Mrs. McKenzie nodded at Josie. “Wonderful with those eyes of yours. I'll just get a dressing room started for you, shall I?”

As soon as the shop owner turned her back on them, Rose grabbed Josie's arm and pulled her behind the second sale rack. She glanced nervously around and when she was sure no one was near, she whispered, “I didn't tell Matt that I saw you in the window, that I was sure you had seen us. He's very…protective of me. And if he knew someone had seen us, well, I can't say for sure how he'd react. I just had this absolute certainty that you wouldn't say anything.”

“Oh, I didn't, Rose. I swear. The more I thought about it, the more saying anything seemed like a real bad idea. So I never said a word.”

“I hope you never will.”

“I won't. Not ever. I promise.”

“I believe you. And I'm grateful. It's hopeless, between Matt and me. We both know it, and yet, somehow…”

“Oh, Rose. Don't. Never say that love is hopeless.”

“Not even if it happens to be the truth?”

“You can't just give in to that kind of attitude. You have to fight, to make things better. It's the only way.”

Rose was shaking her head. “You don't understand.”

“I do.”

“You think you do. But you weren't born a Wainwright—or a Carson, for that matter. My great-grandfather put Matt's in a wheelchair. And that was just the beginning.” Rose sighed. “I know, I know. I can see it in your eyes. You've heard all this before. It's probably nothing much more than an old, sad story to you. But to us—to my family—it's our lives. It's what we are. We
hate
the Carsons, Josie. And they hate us. That's the way it's been for generations. I don't see any way it will ever change.”

To Josie's mind, Rose sounded way too much like Flynt.
Things are the way they are,
he'd insisted a little over a week ago now.
They're not going to change.

And yet, they were changing. Witness herself. Here at Mission Creek Creations buying a fancy dress to wear on a date with Flynt that very night.

“Oh, Rose, if you love him, you should stick with him. No matter what. No matter how impossible the two of you together might seem.”

Rose's smile was so resigned, it made Josie want to cry. “Considering all you've been through in your life, Josie Lavender, you certainly are a naive little thing.”

 

Josie ended up trying on only one dress—the one that Rose had chosen. It was just right. Simple and gorgeous, good against her skin, picking up the color in her eyes. And it fit as if it had been made for her personally.

Mrs. McKenzie
oohed
and
ahhed
over it, then insisted she slip on an incredible pair of evening sandals, black, with bits of glittery green stone embedded in the straps. “I'm having a special sale right now,” Mrs. McKenzie explained. “If you buy the sandals and this beautiful little bag, you get the dress for half off the sale price you see on the tag.”

That made the whole ensemble almost the same price she would have paid for the dress alone. “Some sale,” said Josie, hardly believing her luck.

“Yes,” said Mrs. McKenzie, a knowing gleam in her eye. “Isn't it, though?”

 

Flynt arrived at Alva's at eight on the nose. He was driving one of the Carson Cadillacs. Josie was so nervous, she was standing at the window peeking
through the curtain, waiting to catch sight of him, when he drove up. She'd been ready for over an hour by then.

From the sofa behind her, Alva chuckled—carefully, so as not to get a wheezing fit going. “Hon, didn't anyone ever tell you it's important to make a man wait?”

“Oh, Mama, you know acting cool about things is not my style. It's him! He's just getting out of that beautiful car. Oh, he is handsome.”

“All dressed up in a suit?”

“You bet he is. He's coming up the walk.” She dropped the edge of the curtain, turned to her mother, smoothed her dress. “How do I look?”

“Fantastic.”

“Oh, Mama. That is exactly the right thing to say.”

There was a tap on the door. Josie pulled it open.

Flynt said, “Wow.”

“You don't look half-bad yourself, Flynt Carson.”

 

Flynt drove the fine car up the curving oak-lined driveway that led to the portico in front of the clubhouse at the Lone Star Country Club. An attendant stepped right up and pulled open Josie's door. He helped her out of the car and then hurried around to open Flynt's door, too. Then he took Flynt's place behind the wheel and drove the car away.

Flynt wrapped Josie's hand around his arm and led her up the steps to the entrance. The glass doors
swung wide. They went through into the huge lobby tiled in Texas pink granite, past the clubhouse's famous pink granite fountain, which sent glittering cascades of water halfway to the ceiling high above.

The Empire Room was right off the lobby. And the maître d' was waiting for them. “Mr. Carson, how are you tonight?”

“Just great, Marcus.”

“Wonderful.” The maître d' nodded at Josie. “Welcome to the Empire Room.” She gave him a smile. He took a couple of gold-tasseled menus from a rack on the reservation desk. “This way.”

The minute they were seated, a short, balding fellow in a black suit with a black bow tie came scurrying up to them. Flynt introduced him as Harvey Small, the club manager.

Harvey said he was delighted to make her acquaintance. He suggested they try the veal medallions and then bustled away.

A waiter appeared to discuss the wine list. Flynt sent Josie a questioning look. She shook her head, so he said they wouldn't be having wine tonight.

People waved from other tables. A few even stopped by to say hello as the maître d' led them to tables of their own. Then Flynt would introduce Josie and there would be polite smiles and nice-to-meet-you's.

With all the folks to greet, it seemed to take forever just getting their order in. Finally they'd chosen their
appetizer and their soup and even the main course—those veal medallions that Harvey Small had recommended.

When his club soda came, Flynt toasted her with it. She lifted her water goblet and clicked her glass against his.

It was going pretty well, she thought. She wasn't near as nervous as she'd expected to be. If the rich and powerful in the Empire Room thought she was some kind of upstart intruder, they all had the grace to keep their opinions to themselves, to smile and say, “Lovely to meet you, Josie,” and leave it at that.

And Flynt—well, he really seemed to be having a good time. He talked to her easily, telling her tales of his buddies from VMI—the Virginia Military Institute—who had all been members of the same unit in the war in the Persian Gulf.

They were halfway through the veal medallions—which were a little tough, in Josie's opinion, though, of course, she didn't say so—when two handsome, Latin-looking fellows took a table not too far from theirs.

Flynt exchanged stiff nods with both of the men.

Josie leaned close across the table. “They are…?”

“The taller one is Ricky Mercado. The other's Frank Del Brio.”

“Oh, my.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh, my' is right.”

“Ricky Mercado was part of your unit in the war, wasn't he?”

“Yeah. We were friends at one time.”

“But then…”

“Haley Mercado drowned. She was his sister, after all. Ricky blamed us—me and Spence, Tyler and Luke. And rightfully so, as I've already explained to you.”

She sent him a chiding look. “Stop that.”

“What?”

“Guilt-tripping. It's not allowed. Not tonight.”

He grinned then. “Yes, ma'am.”

She pitched her voice low, the perfect level for dishing the dirt. “I heard that Frank Del Brio was engaged to Haley right before she died.”

“Yeah. None of us could believe that, really, that she'd hook up with him.”

“Pressure from her father, maybe?”

“I'm pretty sure of it. Haley was beautiful and bright and she deserved better than a crook like Del Brio, as far as we were concerned.”

“
We
meaning you and Spencer—”

“And Tyler and Luke. All the usual suspects. Truth is, we were all half in love with her. None of us liked Del Brio. We knew he was as crooked as they come.”

“So then it's true what they say? About the Mercados and Frank Del Brio?”

He chuckled. “You mean, is there really such a thing as the Texas Mafia?”