Page 36 of Texas Kissing
Goddamn that man!
I stomped around the bus, pacing back and forth for a good half hour. I was pretty sure I’d seen the last of Carl—I always made sure none of my clients knew where I lived. I’d cut all ties and I might even consider an anonymous tip to Interpol.Jesus!Selling women?What happened to nice, normal crime like drugs and guns?
I thought about that for a second. I was raised by one of New York’s most powerful dons. It’s possible my moral compass is a little out of whack. But at least Ihavea moral compass.
But the problems with Bull? That couldn’t be so easily solved. The argument had angered me but also upset me, leaving me shamefully close to tears. I was proud of what I did: I was one of the best in the world at my gig, I had clients who trusted me, and I kept everything professional. That’s why it burned so much that Bull disapproved.
The thing is, however much you hate the personwho raises you, you still learn from them. I’d learned about running a business from my uncle and I’d picked up his respect for hard work and doing the best job you can. On some deep level, I think I’d even wanted to impress him—even though he had no idea what I now did. And the fact that he was so sexist, that he thought women had no place except in the home, made me even more determined to build my own little empire.
I hadn’t realized, until I’d told Bull about it, how much I’d been longing to share my achievements with someone. And then he’d thrown it all back in my face.
Why was he so mad? Because he thought I couldn’t handle crime—or maybe thatnowoman could handle it? I’d known he was arrogant and kind of a jerk at times, but I’d been getting to really like him. I hadn’t figured him for sexist. Or was his problem the morals of what I was doing? That didn’t make sense either—Bull didn’t strike me as someone who didn’t at least bend a few laws. Sure, he might be taken aback at what I was doing, but notangry.
Maybe I just didn’t understand men.
28
Bull
MaybeI just didn’t understand women.
I was out at the ranch, stripped to the waist and riding a fine, fast stallion, helping the owner chase down a troublesome steer. Exactly the kind of thing I did well. But I couldn’t enjoy it as I normally would. I kept thinking of Lily, alone in that bus.
Lily, with her hair like silk and her lips like goddamn satin pillows. Lily, with those full, bountiful breasts and pale, curving thighs that I’d still only seen in my imagination. So smart and so sure of herself, so proud of all she’d accomplished—
Proud?
Aw, hell. The lasso fell from my hand and I pulled my horse up short.
I’d gone and offended her, hadn’t I? That’s why she’d blown up at me. I’d been worried about her and angry at her for putting herself in danger, and she’d taken it as criticizing her. And then I’d made it worse with that crack about her single bed. All I’d meant was that her damn secrecy had stopped us getting togetherfor the whole time she’d been living in Texas. If I hadn’t saved her from the bull, we might never have met.
Maybe I should apologize. But I still couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t tell me about her past.
“Hey!” the owner bawled at me. “You gonna rope that steer or what?”
I looked up. Confused by the fact I’d stopped chasing it, the steer had stopped too and was frowning at me as if to say, “Are we doing this or are we not doing this?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled to the owner. I retrieved the lasso and tossed it over the steer’s head with a quick flick of my wrist. The steer snorted as if to say, “About time!”
There. Simple. Why did women have to be so damn complicated?
29
Lily
“And who isit you’re here to see?” asked the receptionist.
“Mr. Hanlow,” I told her. “Room 233. I’m his granddaughter.”
“I thought I recognized you. What’s it been...two months?”
I nodded and signed myself in... as Carol Hanlow. Then I walked all the way through the care facility to room 233...and knocked on 232 instead.
I knew that there were people looking for me and I knew they’d check here at some point. I couldn’t have a visitor’s book showing I’d been here. But my grandmother was the one link I had to my parents and I couldn’t abandon her completely. When I heard she’d had to be moved into the care home, some months after I left New York, it had taken me weeks to pluck up the courage to make the trip to Colorado. It was meant to be a one-time thing but, when I’d seen her here all alone with no visitors, I’d known I’d have to come back.
Hence the ruse. As far as the care home was concerned Mr. Hanlow got a visit from his (actually long-dead) granddaughter every few months while my grandmother saw no one at all. I really would stop in to see Hanlow for a few minutes on my way out—partially because I felt sorry for the poor guy, partially to cover myself if he talked to the nurses. His Alzheimer’s helped to muddy the waters enough that no one would figure the time discrepancy.
My grandmother opened the door and her face lit up when she saw it was me. She pulled me inside while simultaneously giving me an enormous hug. “Get yourself in here,” she ordered. “I’ve got two clues I’m stuck on.”