Texas Tough (The Tylers of Texas 2)

They crossed the parking lot in the twilight. Her fingers crept into his big, comforting palm. She felt his hand close around hers. Had things shifted between them? Could they go forward from here, or was he only being kind in her time of need?

Sky opened the door of the truck so she could climb in. Lauren settled back and fastened her seat belt as he went to the other side.

“Hungry?” He started the engine.

Lauren glanced down at her bloodstained shirt. “I can’t go into a restaurant looking like this. But you must be starved. We could find a drive-through. Or, if you can wait that long, there’s leftover pot roast in the fridge at home.”

“The pot roast sounds good.” He shot her a sidelong glance, and Lauren realized she’d just invited him in. Had he read more into her words than she’d meant? Was there more? Her cheeks warmed in the darkness of the cab. What were the odds they both had the same idea?

The house was dark and silent when they arrived. Sky had driven in the back way, but there’d been no need for it. The news crews had gone. Whether they’d show up again tomorrow was anybody’s guess.

“Don’t worry about playing hostess,” Sky said. “I’m a great hand at rustling up supper with a microwave. You must be anxious to get out of those clothes.”

“Thanks. And yes, I am,” Lauren said, thinking she’d throw out everything but her boots. “While I’m at it, I could use a shower. Don’t wait for me if you’re hungry.”

“Take your time.” He’d opened the fridge and was perusing the shelves. “While I’m thinking about it, where are the keys to those two cars out front? I’ll move them around to the back, in case the sharks start gathering before you’re ready to leave tomorrow.”

“Thanks, they’re—oh.” A groan escaped Lauren’s lips as she remembered. “I left my purse in the den. The keys to the Corvette are in it. And the spare keys to Dad’s Cadillac are in the desk. I’m sorry—such an awful mess in there.”

“Don’t worry about it. For what it’s worth, I have an old high school buddy who runs a cleaning business. He specializes in disasters and he’s smart enough to be discreet.”

“I saw a gangster movie where Harvey Keitel did something like that. Is it that kind of cleaning business?”

His grin flashed. “Go,” he said.

By the time Lauren came back downstairs, Sky had moved the cars and warmed the pot roast. His eyes drank her in as she entered the kitchen, dressed in black leggings and a long, white tee that outlined just enough to let him know she had nothing on underneath. With her damp hair framing her fresh-scrubbed face, she took his breath away.

An aching need uncoiled in the depths of his body. It was all he could do to keep from yanking her into his arms and taking her right there in the kitchen. But she’d been through a hell of a time today, seeing her father almost kill himself before her eyes. He couldn’t assume that an invitation to supper meant anything more than what it was.

“Oh, you set the table,” she said, eyeing the mismatched plates and cutlery he’d managed to find in the cupboard.

“I guessed you might be hungry, too,” he said. “So

rry, I looked around for candles and wine, but no luck there.”

An impish smile lit her coppery eyes. “I don’t know about candles, but I’ll be right back. She darted into the dining room. A light flickered on, and Sky heard the sound of rummaging. A moment later she was back with a dark wine bottle, two goblets, and a corkscrew.

“Someone who wanted a big favor gave this to my father,” she said, handing him the bottle. “You can do the honors.”

Sky glanced at writing on the label. La Romanee Bochard Pere et Fils, 1988. He couldn’t understand a word of French, but he got the general meaning—the wine was very, very expensive.

“Lauren, are you sure—?”

She thrust the corkscrew into his hand. “Go for it. Daddy’s a hard-liquor man. He’d just regift it to somebody else.”

They ate their warmed-over pot roast and vegetables on mismatched plates and drank the vintage French wine from crystal goblets. The wine had a nice earthiness to it, but Sky had to confess that, to him, it didn’t taste much different from the $20 California muscatel they sold at Shop Mart.

Lauren’s laughter was like the forgotten sound of rain. “That’s what I like about you. No pretensions whatsoever.”

“As long as you like me, I guess that’s all that counts.” He leaned back from his empty plate, studying her across the table. “Will you be all right?” he asked her.

“Don’t worry about me. If I survived Mike’s suicide, I can survive this.” She took a sip of wine. “I never told you the story behind that, did I?”

“You only told me he drowned. If you feel like telling me the rest, I’m ready to listen.”

She poured a splash of wine into her glass. “Mike was an only son, from a long line of achievers. His father was a doctor. His uncle was the lieutenant governor of Maryland. His cousins . . .” She shrugged. “All superstars. You can imagine the pressure. It finally got to him. He started drinking, missing his classes. When he flunked out of law school, it was like he’d betrayed his whole family. He couldn’t handle it. I got the call after the police found his body in the river.”

“He had you, and he still drowned himself. That’s a hard one to believe.”