Breathless Descent (Texas Hotzone 3)

He laughed and started the engine. “I say Mexican food and margaritas are in order.”

Shay sighed and said, “Yes. Please.” She was beyond denying herself time with Caleb. She enjoyed him. She wanted to hear about the last ten years. And they needed to talk. In public, if not on the phone. In public being the operative phrase here. That meant she could maintain her “hands off for the night” decision, no matter how hot it might get between her and Caleb. It was a safe plan—she was sure of it.

8

AN HOUR LATER, AFTER George’s scandalous window show, Shay sat in a booth across from Caleb in the far dark corner of a hole-in-the-wall Mexican-food joint. A bit off the beaten path, Jose’s had less traffic than the busy restaurant scene of Austin on a Saturday night. And darn, was it underrated—both in atmosphere and quality.

Shay ran her hand over her midsection as the waiter took her plate. Her stomach was officially full and happy, and it cared not a bit about the old, scuffed hardwood or the red, weathered booth with a rip here and there. But then, Caleb was enough visual for Shay. The urge to reach over and caress the light stubble dusting his jaw had all but won out at least three times. Four. Right now was four.

She curled her fingers in her lap and quickly distracted herself with another memory—one of many they’d shared over dinner. “Remember the fake ID debacle?”

He paused, beer near his lips. “You mean when Kent tried to sneak into the horse races with an ID that said he was twenty-five, when he was sixteen with peach fuzz?” He chuckled and took his drink.

“Wait,” Shay said, leaning forward, flattening her hands on the table. “There was more than one ID debacle?”

“Not if you don’t know about it,” he laughed and set his beer aside, before adding, “Kent almost talked me into going to the track that day. Said he’d dreamed about a horse’s number. We’d be rich. Man almighty, I was glad I didn’t get sucked into that little fantasy. He didn’t see the light of day for a month, your parents were so angry.”

“And he made our lives miserable for it,” she said, curling her legs to the side on the booth, one elbow on the white laminate tabletop.

“Yeah,” he said, and seemed to be thinking back in time before he laughed again. “Yeah, he really did. But those were some good times. Kent and I…we didn’t talk much while I was away, but we’re good now. Just like I was never gone. Last Saturday he slept out at the Hotzone so he could do my Sunday sunrise jump with me.”

“Mom is beside herself that you’re staying in that beat-up trailer rather than with them, you know. I told her you had reasons.” She made an uncomfortable sound. “I didn’t mention the ‘reasons’ were all about avoiding me.”

“It’s not about avoiding you, and the trailer isn’t as bad as I’m sure Kent has made it sound,” he said. “I’m officially the only one of the three Hotzone owners who’s still single. Bobby and Ryan both got themselves married up. I’m the logical Ace to take some of the extra workload. And living on-site helps. They’d do it for me if it were reversed, and one day I’ll need time off, and they’ll cover for me. We’re blood brothers. We’ve all saved each other’s lives more times than I can count.”

Shay sobered sharply on the mix of the tequila she sucked through her straw and the words saved each other’s lives. Her throat constricted, and she barely kept from choking. Shay sat up straight, shoved away the drink, then hoarsely confessed, “I worried about you. I worried a lot.”

His expression softened, his eyes gently touching hers. “Shay…”

He reached for her hand, and she pulled back, fiddling with the napkin in her lap. She didn’t want to get emotional. She hadn’t expected to get emotional. But here were the emotions, overtaking her, demanding notice. And the words—his, and now hers—that seemed to flow of their own accord. “The thought of something happening to you, and then not only losing you, but knowing it was because I’d pushed you away—it ate me alive, especially that first year you were gone. After that, I learned to tuck it away, but there were times, especially after you came home to visit and left again—not that you did that all that often—but after a visit, it would start again. The fear of the phone ringing with bad news. Mom felt it. Dad and Kent, too, but they’re too tough to admit it.”

He sat completely still for several seconds, so still she wasn’t sure he even breathed. And she was pretty sure she’d hit that button—the hot-cold button. The one where he withdrew, where they went back to the not-talking thing they did so well.