Texas Kissing (20 page)

But my uncle guessed. He questioned me for a solid hour about who’d given me drugs and then, when he got tired, Antonio had taken over. I’d eventually broken down and told them the name of the kid who’d passed around the joint. He wasn’t at college the next day. He showed up days later with one leg in plaster and from then on he walked the other way every time he saw me. That was the worst part—he was so scared of me, I never even got to apologize.

More memories rose up inside me, rushing towards the surface. Suddenly, the cool, clean, air-conditioned bus felt a lot like our house, back in New York.

I needed hot desert air, a reminder I wasn’t there anymore. I jumped up from my desk but found my legs would barely hold me, I’d started shaking so hard. I staggered down the bus, tears turning everything blurry. I had to feel for the door button—

And then I was outside, and for once the Texas sun felt good. It was reassurance that I wasn’t trapped in New York anymore.

My breathing slowed and I managed to push the memories down below the surface again. I slumped against the bus, even though its metal sides were almost hot enough to burn me.

When I felt strong enough, I went back inside and focused on Arianna’s French passport. I did my very best work, despite my lingering jealousy. I’m nothing if not professional.

I did give her twenty-seven French parking tickets, though. I’m not
that
professional.

Three days later, I was making coffee, still stewing over what to do about Bull, when my phone rang. I was so focused on what I was going to do about the problem, it didn’t occur to me that the problem might pick up the phone all on its own.

“You ran away again,” Bull admonished in that deep Texas drawl.

Lily

Suddenly, Bull didn’t feel like a problem anymore. Each sweet syllable melted into my brain like molasses and I pressed my thighs together. All I wanted to do was to run over there and let him do whatever he wanted to me.

And he was calling me. Men like Bull
never
called girls. Certainly not when the girl runs out on them and goes silent. So what did that mean?

My heart did a somersault. Immediately, I clamped down on the feelings.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he told me. “Can’t seem to think of much else.”

I pressed my lips together,
hard
. But then it slipped out anyway. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.” It felt weird, telling the truth for a change.
But this is wrong! I can’t put him at risk!

He started to speak again, but it sounded for a second like he was struggling to find the words. And then I realized what it was—he’d never made this kind of call before. Calling the girl after he’d slept with her was precisely what he
didn’t
do. “I guess I wanted you to know that, um—“Wait
...is he really getting tongue-tied?
“I want to see you again. Today.”

He was reassuring me that it hadn’t been just a one-night stand. I wasn’t ready for the way my heart soared. He was changing. For me.

I looked around the bus. I’d escaped one prison in New York, but had I wound up just making another one for myself?

Maybe
I
needed to change a little, too.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “Today.” Then I remembered my nightmare. “No, wait. Tomorrow. There’s something I have to do this afternoon.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoed. “Can you stop by the stables, about six? Everyone else will have headed out. We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

“How romantic!”

His voice dropped from a rumble to a low, seductive growl. “You want romantic, now? ‘ Cause last time I saw you, what you wanted was a good, hard—”

“Tomorrow!” I yelped and hung up. A wave of heat was sweeping through me, flushing my cheeks.

As soon as I stopped talking to Bull, the fear came back.
What the hell am I doing?

But it was too late. For the first time, the feelings inside me were strong enough to overshadow the fear. I started to rationalize it away.
It’s been two years and my uncle hasn’t found me yet. Maybe he’s stopped looking.

I started to wonder if, if I was very careful, I could actually make this work.

Well, if there was even a chance...I was going to give it a damn good try.

***

That afternoon, I headed to my doctor’s office. She had no problem writing me a prescription for the pill and I popped the first one in the parking lot. I’d only just finished my period so I was—I squirmed inside—
good to go.

I hadn’t had that sensation in years: the feeling of
planning sex.
I’d forgotten how good it felt. My next stop was the nail salon. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it properly.

“Toes, too?” asked the nail technician. “A pedicure?”

Money was the one thing in my life that wasn’t a problem. The work was well paid and my living expenses were virtually zero. Cash just built up in my bank account because I didn’t have anything to spend it on...until now. “Sure,” I told her.

She was like a shark sensing blood. “A leg wax? Bikini wax?”

I went to say
no...
and then nodded my head, instead. “Go nuts,” I told her. She ran to get help. I stumbled out of the salon over three hours later, my purse much lighter and various parts of me tender.

Finally, I hit the mall and bought a little denim skirt that would show off my—laughably pale—legs and a shirt I could tie beneath my boobs. I had to look at it for a long time in the changing room mirror before I decided and, even then, I wasn’t sure about showing off so much of me. But I’d been wearing blouses and jeans for two years. I needed something appropriate for dating.

I figured that, with enough attention to detail, I could control the relationship and manage its risks just like I did with my business. The pill? That was just a different kind of Taser.

I hadn’t realized that relationships are a hell of a lot more complicated.

Antonio

I’d spent a fruitless week searching New York. Tessa’s old college classmates, the few boyfriends she’d had...all the same people I’d questioned two years ago. And it had gone just the same as before.

I hated the little bitch. I’d wasted the best years of my life driving her to fucking band practice when I should have been doing real work for the family. Now, finally, she was gone. But just when I was making a name for myself I’d been pulled back to running around after her again.

When I found her, she was going to fucking pay.

There were precious few possibilities left, though. Her parents were dead and she’d been an only child. There was only one surviving relative and she was in a goddamn nursing home. I was almost certain that she would be a dead end, too.

“I’m here to see Abigail Oates,” I told the receptionist. “I’m her nephew.” I wasn’t even related to Tessa, Erico or the rest of the family, but I looked as if I could be.

She handed me the visitor’s book and, just as I’d expected, there were no entries on the preceding pages for Tessa’s grandmother. Just to be sure, I said, “I’m the only one who’s stopped in? My cousin hasn’t been by?”

The receptionist shook her head. “Nope. Mrs. Oates never gets any visitors.”

I sighed. A four hour fucking flight for nothing. I headed for the door.

“Wait—aren’t you visiting?” asked the receptionist.

“I changed my mind.”

I kicked open the door to the parking lot, which drew an angry shout from the receptionist. I was halfway to my rental car when I stopped.

Tessa pissed me off. Always had. Partially because of how I had to follow her around as if she was a fucking princess, partially because of how close she was to Erico—closer than I knew I’d ever get. She was family and I wasn’t. Hell, she’d tried to leave and he’d
still
taken her back in. If it had been my call, I would have killed her along with her prissy friend.

But however much I hated her, I had to admit she was smart. It takes brains to disappear completely, like she’d done.

I turned around and marched back into the care home.

“What now?” asked the receptionist glaring. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kick our—“

I held up a photo of Tessa. “Has this woman been here?” I demanded.

She balked, then lifted her chin and folded her arms defiantly. “We don’t give out information on visitors,” she sniffed.

I looked left and right. No one else was around. I vaulted the counter and muscled in on her, backing her up against the far wall. She dropped the tough girl act instantly, her eyes going wide with fear. “I—I’ll call the cops!” she bleated.

I grabbed the phone and pulled it out of the wall. Then I showed her the photo again. This time, I caught the recognition in her eyes. “Talk!” I snapped. “When did she come?”

“You’ve got it wrong! That’s Mr. Hanlow’s granddaughter. She comes every few months.”

I frowned. “Hanlow?” Who the fuck was Hanlow?

“He’s a resident,” the receptionist said. “Room 233.”

Then I got it. “And which room is Abigail Oates in?”

She checked. “232.”

Oh, clever, Tessa. Very clever.

I grabbed the visitor’s book. Mr. Hanlow had had a visitor just two days ago.

I jumped back over the counter and marched straight to 232. The receptionist would call security, or maybe the cops, but I had a few minutes before they arrived. And I only needed a few minutes.

The doors to the residents’ rooms were cheap, crappy things. I broke the thing open with one good kick. Tessa’s grandmother was sitting there doing a crossword puzzle.

“Oh my,” she said with a start. “Who are you?”

I frowned. Had there been a second of recognition, when she’d first seen me? Had she guessed who I was and why I was there...or was I just imagining it?

“Tessa,” I snapped. “Where is she?”

“Tessa!” she said happily. “Is she coming? I haven’t seen her in so long.”

“I know she was here! Where is she living?”

She frowned at me. “In New York, of course. Why, she must be starting school, by now.”

I groaned.
Senile.
Of course she was. She was in her eighties. She probably didn’t even know what day it was.

Unless...

I narrowed my eyes. Unless she was acting.

She smiled happily back at me, quite unafraid. “Would you like some tea?” she asked.

No. Not possible. Not at her age. I sighed and looked around. Tessa had been here, but I wasn’t going to be able to get anything useful out of her grandmother. And I only had a few minutes before the cops showed up.

I checked the wastepaper basket. Empty.

Then I saw something behind it. Someone had tossed a napkin and missed. I unfolded it without much hope.

Printed in the center was a cartoon gold prospector. Coffee or tea or something had blurred the name of some bar or restaurant below it, but I could read the last word of the address:
Texas.