Texas Tough (The Tylers of Texas 2)

He would have to tell the brothers about his property, too, Sky realized. It shouldn’t be a big surprise, since they knew Bull had left him something in the will. But he’d hoped to keep it secret until he decided what to do with the land. No doubt they’d have plenty of suggestions.

Glancing down at the dashboard clock, he saw that it was after midnight. Had the red Maserati delivered Lauren back to her doorstep, or was she still “thanking” Josh Hardesty for his contribution to her father’s campaign?

Sky cursed the rage that crackled like summer lightning through his veins. Jealousy was a waste of time and energy. If Prescott’s spoiled princess daughter wanted to go out with an old cabrón in a fancy car, that was her business. He had more urgent worries, enough to drive a sane man crazy. Lauren Prescott was just one more distraction—one he didn’t need.

He would work with her horse because he’d promised, and because a good horse deserved better than to live in fear. But if she expected any more than a friendly fist bump from him, the lady was in for a letdown.

If he told himself he didn’t want her, he’d be lying. The memory of pressing her against the desk, thrusting into that tight, hot silk while her voice urged him on, would burn him alive if he let it. But he was a man, with a man’s pride and a man’s responsibilities. Lauren could play her little games with somebody else.

Marie dragged her feet up the wooden stairs, bone weary after her grueling eight-hour shift. The dark stairwell smelled of cigarette smoke and stale urine. God, how she hated this place. But never mind that. She’d come here for a reason, with a plan she’d already set in motion.

Getting Sky’s sympathy had been part of that plan. It was easily done. Sky had always been generous to a fault, too willing to see the good in people even where there was no good to be found. He’d believed in that dumb-ass Lute, and if she played her cards right, he would believe in her.

Not that she meant him any harm. Unlike her brothers, Sky had always been good to her. She wasn’t ungrateful. But she wasn’t above using his influence and his protection to her advantage. Tonight she’d fed him just enough truth to gain his trust—including the part about the recorder’s office. The lies—and there’d been a few—would need fixing before she saw him again.

She’d never meant to bring Coy to Texas with her. But he was wanted in Oklahoma, and he’d insisted on coming. So far his presence had been a disaster. If she hadn’t been hauling his lazy ass back from town on the bike, they would never have run into that old man and Marie wouldn’t have had to shoot him. Now she feared Coy’s big mouth would get them both in trouble. And trouble was the last thing she could afford right now.

From the upstairs hallway, she opened the door to her room. The day’s heat came rushing out, along with the lingering odors of stale sex that rose from the mattress on the rusty metal bed. Marie hated that smell and what it meant. She’d done things she wasn’t proud of, but she’d never been a whore.

Ste

pping inside, she opened the only window. With no cross-ventilation it didn’t let in much air, but it was better than nothing. The room above the Blue Coyote was a shitty place to live—there was no better word for it. The only bathroom was downstairs in the bar. Needing it now, she took her key and went down the hall to the inside stairway.

Nobody else was in the bar at night. Stella and her brother lived in an apartment across town—probably a palace compared to this dump. Marie used the toilet and bent over the sink to wash. The single 40-watt bulb gleamed on the mirror that reflected her scarred face. Someday she’d have the money to get that scar removed. She’d have money for other things as well—a hot car, pretty clothes, and her own condo. Lute had wanted those things, too. He’d died trying to get them. But she was a lot smarter than Lute. She had a plan—one she was about to take to the next level.

She’d figured there was no hurry. But now that Sky was involved, time was running out. She would have to act tonight.

“You’re home late. I hope that’s a good sign.” Garn Prescott set his bourbon glass on the coffee table and rose as his daughter walked in through the front entry.

“Hardly.” Lauren sounded annoyed. Her rumpled blouse was missing a button. “We had a flat tire on the way home. I offered to help him change it, but he insisted on calling his auto club. We were stuck in the middle of nowhere for over an hour, waiting for them to show up.”

Prescott sighed. “Well, at least the time must have given you a chance to get better acquainted.”

“Oh, we got acquainted, all right, if that’s what you want to call it. The wrestling match ended when I slapped his smarmy face! I hope you cashed that check he gave you. After tonight, I wouldn’t put it past him to stop payment.”

Prescott had put the check in his wallet for his next trip to the bank. The thought that the funds might be blocked was enough to make his stomach churn. Maybe it was time he got one of those high-tech phone apps that let you snap a photo of the check and send it to the bank.

He squelched the urge to rail at his daughter. Didn’t Lauren realize how much he needed the goodwill of the governor’s family, to say nothing of the money?

At least Stella Rawlins’s cash was safe in the bank. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to call and thank her, maybe take her out to dinner. He preferred his women younger, like Tori Tyler, who’d been turning him down ever since his wife’s death had made him a widower. But Stella’s air of knowing sexuality intrigued him—almost as much as her offer of more money for his strapped campaign.

“Did you have to antagonize the man, Lauren? Not that I expected you to sleep with him, but couldn’t you have given him a little encouragement, maybe left him hoping for more?”

Lauren’s shoulders sagged for an instant. Then her head came up. “God, I’m not even going to dignify that question with an answer!” She flung him a look of defiance. “What are you doing up so late, anyway? It’s not like I’m still in high school.”

Prescott picked up the TV remote and clicked it on. “The local station gave me a deal on some airtime. I just want to make sure they’re running my ad.”

He settled back on the sofa to watch. The ad was a rerun from his previous campaign two years ago. But what the hell, he hadn’t changed that much and neither had his message. Anyway, who was going to see it in the middle of the night? When he got more money coming in, he’d shoot a new ad and buy some decent time to run it. But right now this was the best he could manage.

“What do you think, Lauren?” he asked. “How could I improve on this for the new ad? Would you be willing to say a few words on camera, maybe give the boys something to look at?”

There was no answer.

“Lauren?” He looked back toward the entry, where she’d been standing. His daughter was nowhere to be seen.

Lauren switched off the floodlights that illuminated the swimming pool behind the house. Cloaked in darkness, she walked to the water’s edge. The night air was stifling, her skin sticky with sweat. Worse, she felt dirty, as if she’d just allowed herself to be sold. Maybe she hadn’t delivered the goods. But Josh Hardesty had assumed she would. After all, he’d paid the price. He’d even implied as much the first time she’d shoved him away.

The smell of expensive leather, from the Maserati’s sweat-dampened seats, clung faintly to her clothes. Her fumbling fingers peeled away her blouse and bra, her slacks and underwear. She kicked off her sandals, stepping free of the clothes that had bunched around her feet.