Page 88 of Texas Kissing
His dad stepped forward and put his arms around her, but she shook him off and grabbed Bull, pulling him into a tearful embrace. I made myself scarce.
Outside, I leaned against the fence, tears welling up in my eyes. How could I ask him to leave all this behind, and with zero notice? I’d never known a real family. I couldn’t even conceive of how difficult it must be for Bull.
His dad quietly leaned against the fence next to me. We both stood staring at the horses.
“Hell of a thing,” said Bull’s dad. “Hellof a thing.”
I nodded sadly.
“His brother can maybe get here,” he said. “I just made the call. But his sister I can’t get hold of. You can’t even stay a day or two?”
I shook my head. “There are people who want to kill us,” I told him. “They’redesperatefor this trial to fail. It’s not just my uncle. Ifhegoes down, there are other bosses who are worried he’ll turnthemin. Too many people have a stake in seeing him walk.” I turned to him. “It’s not too late, for Bull. If I go on from here on my own and he stays in Texas...”
“Is that whathewants to do?” asked Bull’s dad.
“No, but—“
“Is this thesame Bullwe’re talking about?”
We exchanged looks and, despite everything, we both smiled.
“All I know is,” he said, “I saw the way he looked at you when he introduced you. My boy’s no stranger to women, but I never saw him look at one the way he looks at you.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I won’t get a chance to get to know you, Lily. But I’m glad you’re with my son.”
Bull’s brother flew in that night—the benefits of having a private jet at your disposal. Bull hadn’t been kidding about him being rich. He was very different to Bull, less hulking muscle, more of a lean panther. But he shared Bull’s good looks. When he heard what was going on, he pulled Bull into a man hug that lasted for long minutes.
Bull’s sister, though, we only managed to reach at the last minute and she couldn’t be there until the next morning. We begged the FBI agent but his orders were clear. And we knew that by staying there, we could be putting the whole family at risk. When we drove away, Bull’s mom tried to hold it together—butat the last minute she broke down and ran after the car, sobbing.
“Keep going,” said Bull in a broken voice. It was the only time I’d ever seen him with tears in his eyes.
I knew we were doing the right thing. That didn’t stop it feeling wrong.
We spent three months in a temporary home in Illinois (where, as I’d thought, there were no horses) while the pretrial work was completed. We had to stay out of sight so we went quietly stir crazy. I read a lot. Bull, who wasn’t much for reading, probably would have lost it completely if it hadn’t been for sex. Fortunately, with both of us at home all day, there was plenty of that.
We debated what to do with the bus. I hated the idea of it going to a junkyard, after all my hard work on it. But we couldn’t take it with us—it was far too recognizable. Eventually, we donated it to charity and it wound up as a mobile, drop-in health center for the homeless.
On the first day of the trial, I held Bull’s hand and waited for them to appear. I hadn’t been able to eat breakfast that morning. I’d been fearing this day for so long...
Antonio appeared first, his jaw set and his whole body tense with brooding, vicious anger. His eyes searched the courtroom...and then found me.
I squeezed Bull’s hand so hard that any other manwould have gasped in pain.
Then my uncle, looking as calm and refined as ever.He doesn’t believe he can lose,I realized. As I watched him walk across the courtroom, every memory of my childhood came spinning back to me. I felt as if I was falling backwards through time.
And then he turned and saw me and his gaze pinned me to my seat.You’re still mine,it said.You still belong to this family.
I dropped my eyes, overwhelmed. When I dared to look again, there was a look of victory in his eyes.
I grabbed Bull’s hand in both of mine and felt his warmth and strength pump into me.
I looked back to my uncle...and this time, I met his gaze and held it.
There was a whole raft of charges to work through, from racketeering to drug trafficking, but the key to the trial was Annette’s murder. Bull and I sat side-by-side in the courtroom day after day as the case unfolded.
We received death threats—some subtle, some hollered on the courtroom steps. Calahan and his team probably stopped many more of them before they reached us. Each time, I gripped Bull’s hand and carried on.
When it was my turn in the witness stand, I recounted everything that had happened to Annette. When my uncle’s stare got too much for me and I broke down and sobbed, I looked over to Bull for a moment and let those blue eyes fill me with their calm. And then I carried on.
I testified about all the things I’d seen and heard, growing up—contract killings and protection rackets, bribes to politicians and the police. I left the jury in absolutely no doubt as to the sort of man my uncle was.