“They'll take it out of my paycheck.”
The idea didn't seem to bother him, and she regarded him thoughtfully. He was toying with the mouse that sat on a gray foam pad next to the computer. His fingers were long and tapered, the nails clipped short. One strong, bare wrist showed beneath the cuff of his robe.
“Since you don't have any acting experience, it occurs to me that you might be a bit nervous about the whole thing. If you're afraid . . .”
He uncurled from the desk and spoke softly, but with a certain intensity she hadn't heard in his voice until that moment. “Bobby Tom Denton isn't afraid of anything, sweetheart. You just remember that.”
“Everybody's afraid of something.”
“Not me. When you've spent the best part of your life facing eleven men hell-bent on pulling your guts out through your nose hairs, things like making movies don't have much effect.”
“I see. Still, you're not a football player any longer.”
“Oh, I'll always be a football player, in one way or another.” For a moment she thought she detected a bleakness in his eyes, an emotion almost like despair. But he'd spoken so matter-of-factly, she decided she'd imagined it. He came around the side of the desk toward her.
“Maybe you'd better get on the phone and tell your boss I'll be there one of these days soon.”
He had finally made her angry, and she drew herself up to her full five feet, four and three-quarters inches. “What I'm going to tell my boss is that both of us will be flying into San Antonio tomorrow afternoon and then driving on to Telarosa.”
“We are?”
“Yes.” She knew she had to be firm with him from the beginning or he'd take dreadful advantage of her. “Otherwise, you're going to be in the middle of a very nasty lawsuit.”
He rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger. “I guess you win, sweetheart. What time is our flight?”
She regarded him suspiciously. “Twelve-forty-nine.”
“All right.”
“I'll pick you up at eleven o'clock.” She was wary of his sudden capitulation, and it sounded more like a question than a statement.
“It might be easier if I met you at the airport.”
“I'll pick you up here.”
“That's real nice of you.”
The next thing she knew, Bobby Tom had her by the elbow and was steering her from the study.
He played the perfect host, pointing out a sixteenth century temple gong and a floor sculpture made from petrified wood, but in less than ninety seconds, she was alone on the sidewalk.
Lights blazed from the front windows and music drifted toward her on the scented night air. As she breathed it in, her eyes grew wistful. This was her first wild party and, unless she was very much mistaken, she had just been thrown out.
Gracie was back at Bobby Tom Denton's house at eight o'clock the next morning. Before she'd left the motel, she'd placed a call to Shady Acres to check on Mrs. Fenner and Mr. Marinetti. As much as she'd needed to escape her life at the nursing home, she still cared about the people she'd left behind three weeks ago, and she was relieved to hear that they were both improving. She'd also called her mother, but Fran Snow had been on the way to her water aerobics class at her Sarasota condominium, and she had no time to talk.
Gracie parked her car on the Street, where it was hidden from the house by shrubbery but still afforded her a clear view of the drive. Bobby Tom's sudden agreeableness last night had made her suspicious, and she wasn't taking any chances.
She'd spent most of' the night alternating between disturbingly erotic dreams and nervous wakefulness. This morning while she showered, she'd been forced to give herself a stern lecture. It wouldn't do any good to tell herself that Bobby Tom wasn't the handsomest, sexiest, and most exciting man she'd ever met, because he was. That made it even more important to remember that his blue eyes, lazy charm, and relentless affability hid a dangerous combination of a monstrous ego and a keen mind. She was going to have to stay on her toes.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of an antique red Thunderbird convertible backing down the drive. Having anticipated exactly this sort of treachery, she flipped the key in the ignition, pushed hard on the accelerator, and shot forward to block the way with her rental car. After she turned off the engine, she scooped up her purse and got out.
The ignition keys jingled in the pocket of her latest fashion mistake, an oversize mustard-colored wrap dress that she had hoped would look crisp and professional, but merely looked dowdy and middle-aged. The heels of Bobby Tom's cowboy boots clicked on the drive as he came toward her, the barest hint of a limp in his walk. Nervously, she studied his outfit. His silk shirt, imprinted with purple palm trees, was tucked into a pair of perfectly faded and impeccably frayed jeans that molded to his narrow hips and lean runner's legs in a manner that made it nearly impossible for her to draw her eyes away from parts of him she'd be better off not looking at.
She braced herself as he tipped his pearl gray Stetson. “Mornin', Miz Gracie.”
“Good morning,” she said briskly. “I didn't expect you to be up so early after last night.” Several seconds ticked by as he gazed at her. Although his eyes were half-lidded, she detected an intensity beneath that indolence that made her wary.
“You weren't supposed to be here till eleven,” he said.
“Yes, well, I'm early.”
“I can see that, and I sure would appreciate it if you'd back your car out of my way.” His lazy drawl was at odds with the faint tightening at the corners of his lips.
“I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I'm here to escort you to Telarosa.”
“I don't mean to be impolite, sweetheart, but the fact is, I don't need a bodyguard.”
“I'm not a bodyguard. I'm an escort.”
“Whatever you are, I'd like you to move your car.”
“I understand that, but if I don't have you in Telarosa by Monday morning, I'm fairly certain I'll be fired, so I really must be firm about this.”
He rested one hand on his hip. “I see your point, so I'm gonna give you a thousand dollars to drive away and not come back.”
Gracie stared at him.
“Let's make that fifteen hundred for the inconvenience.”
She'd always assumed people knew, just by looking at her, that she was an honorable person, and the idea that he could believe her capable of accepting a bribe offended her far more than being mistaken for a stripper.
“I don't do things like that,” she said slowly.
He emitted a lengthy sigh of regret. “I'm real sorry you feel that way because, whether you take my money or not, I'm afraid I'm not going to be on that plane with you this afternoon.”
“Are you telling me you're going to break your contract?”
“No. I'm just tellin' you that I'll be getting to Telarosa all by myself.”
She didn't believe him. “You signed that contract of your own free will. Not only do you have a legal obligation to fulfill it, but you also have a moral obligation.”
“Miz Gracie, you sound just like a Sunday School teacher.”
Her eyes dropped.
He gave a bark of laughter and shook his head. “It's true. Bobby Tom Denton's bodyguard is a damn Sunday School teacher.”
“I told you I'm not your bodyguard. I'm simply your escort.”
“I'm afraid you're going to have to find somebody else to escort, then, because I've decided to drive to Telarosa instead of fly, and I know for a fact that a fine lady like yourself wouldn't be comfortable closed up in a T-bird with a hell-raiser like me.” He walked over to her rental car and leaned down to peer inside the passenger window, looking for her keys. “I'm embarrassed to tell you that I don't have the best reputation when it comes to women, Miz Gracie.”
She trotted after him, trying very hard not to stare at the way that tight, faded denim clung to his hips as he bent forward. “You don't have enough time to drive to Telarosa. Willow is expecting us there by this evening.”
He straightened and smiled. “You be sure to give her my regards when you see her. Now are you going to move your car?”
“Absolutely not.”
He dipped his head, shook it regretfully, and then, with a quick step forward, snagged the shoulder strap of Gracie's purse and slipped it off her arm.
“Give that back right this minute!” She lunged for the clunky black bag.
“I sure will be happy to. Just as soon as I find your car keys.” He smiled agreeably while he held the purse out of her reach and riffled through it.
She certainly wasn't going to get into a wrestling match with him, so she used her sternest voice. “Mr. Denton, give me my purse back immediately. And of course you'll be in Telarosa by Monday. You signed a contract that—”
“Excuse me for interrupting, Miz Gracie, when I know you're just itchin' to make your point, but I'm a little pressed for time here.” He handed her purse back without having found what he was looking for and walked toward the house.
Once again, Gracie rushed after him. “Mr. Denton. Uh, Bobby Tom—”
“Bruno, could you come out here for a minute?”
Bruno emerged from the garage, a grubby rag in his hand. “You need something, B.T.?”
“I sure do.” He turned to Gracie. “Beg pardon, Miz Snow.”
With no more warning than that, he slipped his hands under her arms and began to frisk her.