Texas! Lucky

He liked Susan well enough. He wanted to get her into bed, but mainly because he hadn't yet managed to. She was spoiled and would be hell to live with. Besides, he strongly suspected that she wouldn't be all that great a lover. He believed that for her, sex would be a form of currency, not pleasure.

He liked his women willing, active, and enjoying the tumble as much as he did. Damned if he wanted a wife who swapped him favor for favor, or one who withheld bedroom privileges until she got her way. No, he hoped Susan Young wasn't holding her breath until he got down on bended knee and asked for her hand in marriage. She would turn blue in the face before that ever happened.

And as soon as he could get to a phone, he would need to call and cancel their dinner date. She would be upset, but he sure as hell couldn't show up at the Youngs' dinner table with his face looking the way it did.

"Women," he muttered with disgust as he took the exit ramp behind the saucy red compact.

* * *

Chapter 3

Lucky pulled into the paved parking lot about ninety seconds behind the woman. The roadside complex comprised a U-shaped, two-story motel, a restaurant boasting the best chicken-fried steak in the state—which he seriously doubted—a gas station with dozens of pumps, and a combination liquor and convenience store.

She had gone into the restaurant. Through the plate-glass window Lucky watched a waitress show her to a table. In a short while she was brought what appeared to be a club sandwich. How could she think of food? He felt like hell. Eating was out of the question. Easing himself out of his car and keeping away from the window so she wouldn't see him, he limped toward the convenience store.

"What happened to you, buddy? Get hit by a Mack truck?"

"Something like that," Lucky replied to the cheerful clerk who rang up his purchases. He bought a pint bottle of whiskey, a tin of aspirin, and a raw steak. Because the gray meat was turning green around the edges, it had been marked down. It was unfit for human consumption, but that wasn't what he had in mind anyway.

"Does the other guy look better or worse?" the curious clerk asked.

Lucky gave him a lopsided grin. "He looks okay, but he feels a hell of a lot worse." Returning to his car, he slumped in the white leather seat behind the wheel, uncapped the bottle, and washed down three aspirins with his first swig of whiskey. He had just unwrapped the smelly steak when he saw the woman emerge from the restaurant. Because he had been anticipating how good it was going to feel to place the cool meat on his throbbing eye, he was cursing beneath his breath when he reached for the car door handle, prepared to open it.

He paused, however, when she walked down the sidewalk and entered the check-in office of the motel. Within a few minutes she came out with a room key.

Lucky waited until she had backed out and driven her car around the corner before following her. He rounded the building just in time to see her entering a room on the ground floor about midway along the west wing of the motel.

Things were looking up, he thought with satisfaction as he pulled his Mustang into a parking slot. He preferred their confrontation to be private. That was why he hadn't followed her into the restaurant. Unwittingly she was playing right into his hands. Pocketing his car keys in his jeans, and taking the steak, aspirin, and whiskey with him, he sauntered toward the door she had just closed behind her and knocked.

He could envision her pausing in whatever she was doing and looking curiously at the door before moving toward it cautiously. He grinned into the peephole. "You might just as well open the door. I know you recognize me."

The door was jerked open. She looked as volatile as a rocket about to launch. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," he drawled, "I was following you, and this is where you ended up, so here I am."

"Why were you following me?"

"Because you've got something I want."

At first taken aback, she then regarded him closely. Her wariness was immensely satisfying. She wasn't as tough as she wanted everybody to think. Still, her voice was haughty enough when she asked, "And what might that be?"

"An apology. Can I come in?"

Again his answer threw her off guard, so she didn't initially react when he moved toward the door. However, when his foot stepped on the threshold, she braced a hand against his chest. "No! You cannot come in. Do you think I'm crazy?"

"Could be. Why else would you come into the place all by yourself?"

"What place?"

He glanced down at her hand splayed across his sternum.

She hastily dropped it.

"The place. The bar where I courageously defended your honor this afternoon."

"My honor didn't need defending."

"It would have if Little Alvin had got his slimy paws on you."