Texas! Lucky (4 page)

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."

"That weasely little man?"

"No, that's Jack Ed. Jack Ed Patterson. Little Alvin is the one you called a gorilla. See, they call him Little Alvin because—"

"This is all very interesting, but I just want to forget it. Rest assured that there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of them getting their 'slimy paws' on me. I had the situation under control."

"Is that right?" he asked, giving her a smile that said he didn't believe her for a minute, but he admired her spunk.

"That's right. Now, if you'll please excuse—"

"Uh-uh." He flattened his hand against the door she was about to shut in his face. "I don't have my apology yet."

"All right," she said irritably, shoving back a handful of auburn hair he wouldn't mind having a handful of himself. "I apologize for … for…"

"For not thanking me properly for rescuing you."

Gritting her teeth, she emphasized each word. "For not thanking you properly for rescuing me."

Propping his shoulder against the doorjamb, he squinted at her. "Wonder how come I don't think you really mean that?"

"Oh, I do. I truly do. From the bottom of my little ol' heart." Resting her right hand on the left side of her chest, she fluttered her eyelashes as she made a pledge. "If I ever get hit on in a bar again, you'll be the first one I call to defend me. I'll even recommend you to my fragile, feminine friends. How's that for gratitude?"

Ignoring her sarcasm, he raised his hand and touched the corner of her mouth with the tip of his index finger. "Your lip is bleeding again."

Turning her back on him, she rushed into the room and bent over the dresser top to check her reflection in the mirror. "It is not!" When she turned back around, Lucky was standing inside the closed door with his back to it, grinning like a hungry alley cat who'd just spotted a trapped mouse.

She drew herself up straight and said in an overly calm voice, "You don't want to do this. I'm warning you that I'm capable of defending myself. I'll raise such a hue and cry, I'll bring this building down. I know how to use physical force. I'll—"

Lucky started laughing. "What did you think I had in mind, ravishing you? All I want to do is hear a sincere apology from you, then I'll be on my way. In the meantime I'm going to borrow your bed for a minute."

Setting the whiskey, aspirin, and packaged steak on the nightstand, he hopped on one foot while pulling off his boot, then got rid of the other one the same way. He stretched out on the bed and piled both pillows against the headboard, sighing with relief as his head sank into them.

"If you don't get out of here this instant," she shouted angrily, "I'll call the management! I'll call the police!"

"Will you quiet down, please? My head's pounding. And whatever happened to all that self-defense you were threatening me with?" Removing the steak from its Styrofoam tray, he laid it against his battered eye. "If you'll bring the glasses over, I'll share my whiskey with you."

"I don't want any of your whiskey!"

"Fine. But could you please bring me a glass?"

"All right, if you won't leave, I will."

She marched toward the door and yanked it open. A jangling sound brought her head around. Her car keys were dangling from the end of Lucky's finger. "Not yet, Miss … uh, what's your name?"

"Go to hell!" she yelled, slamming the door closed again.

"Hmm. Named after your mother or father?"

"Give me my keys." She thrust out her hand.

"Not until you apologize. While I'm waiting, how about that glass?" He nodded toward the dresser where an ice bucket and two glasses were wrapped in sterile paper.

"If you want a glass, you can get it yourself."

"Okay." He sighed. But when he tried to sit up, the skin across his stomach stretched and the knife wound reopened. Wincing, he fell back onto the pillows. When his hand came away from reflexively touching the area, it was stained with fresh blood.

She gave a soft cry and quickly moved to the side of the bed. "You really are hurt."

"Did you think I was faking it?" Lucky was smiling, but his lips were pale and taut. "And I rarely go around in a shirt that's been sliced to ribbons."

"I … I didn't think…" she foundered
. "
Shouldn't you go to the hospital?"

"It'll be okay once it closes and stays closed."

Bending over him, she raised the hem of his ripped shirt. The extent of the cut made her gasp. It wasn't deep, but it arced from beneath his left breast to the waistband of his jeans on his right side. In places his tawny body hair was clotted with dried blood. The thin red line was seeping.

"This might get infected if it's not seen to." The resolution on her face barely had time to register with him before she said, "Better take off your shirt."

He hesitated, because in order to remove his shirt, he'd have to set aside her keys. She sensed the reason for his hesitation and said with asperity, "I wouldn't desert a man who is broken and bleeding."

Lucky dropped her keys on the nightstand, undid his shirt buttons, and eased up far enough to pull the fabric off his wide shoulders. She assisted him, negligently tossing the tattered garment to the floor and focusing only on his wound. "That wretched little man," she said, shuddering.

"Jack Ed? Yeah, he's a real scumbag. I'm relieved to know your flirtation with him wasn't anything serious."

"I wasn't flirting, and you know it," she said crossly. Leaving the bed, she went into the adjoining bathroom. A moment later she was back with a washcloth soaked in warm water. Nudging his hip with hers, she sat down on the bed beside him and applied the cloth to the cut. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"Does it hurt?" she asked in a gentle tone.

"Dumb question."

"I'm sorry, but it really should be cleaned. Lord only knows where that knife has been."

"I wouldn't even want to hazard a guess." Before, he had been too angry at her to concede what a looker she was. Now he did. She wore her dark auburn hair shoulder length and loose, and probably tried to control its natural tendency to wave. Green eyes were now surveying his wound sympathetically, but he knew firsthand those eyes could be as frigid as a brass doorknob in January.

Her lean face had well-defined cheekbones, but a mouth with a soft, full lower lip. As a connoisseur, with vast experience of lips, he recognized them right off as extremely kissable. Her plush lower lip was a dead giveaway that this was a woman with a sensual nature.

That was probably something else she tried to control. She certainly tried repressing it with tailored clothing that didn't quite conceal a noteworthy figure. Not voluptuous. Not model-skinny either. Somewhere in between. Slender but curved. Spectacular legs. He couldn't wait to see her out of her suit jacket, with nothing covering her breasts except the silk blouse she was wearing beneath the jacket.

First things first, however. He was assured of success, but this woman was going to be an exciting challenge, something rare that didn't come along every day. Hell, he'd never had anybody exactly like her. Rules of the game might have to be adjusted as he went along.

"What's your name?"

She raised deep forest-green eyes to his.
"D-D-Dovey."

"'D-D-
Dovey
'?"

"That's right," she snapped defensively. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing. I just hadn't noticed you stuttering before. Or has the sight of my bare chest made you develop a speech impediment?" He suddenly wanted her face nuzzling in his chest hair. Badly.

"Hardly, Mr.—?"

"Lucky."

"Mr. Lucky?"

"No, I'm Lucky."

"Why is that?"

"I mean my name is Lucky. Lucky Tyler."

"Oh. Well, I assure you the sight of your bare chest leaves me cold, Mr. Tyler." He didn't believe her, and the smile that tilted up one corner of his mouth said so.

"Call me Lucky."

She reached for the bottle of whiskey on the nightstand and raised it in salute. "Well, Lucky, your luck just ran out."

"Huh?"

"Hold your breath." Before he could draw a sufficient one, she tipped the bottle and drizzled the liquor over the cut.

He blasted the four walls with words unfit to be spoken aloud, much less shouted. "Oh God, oh hell, oh—"

"Your language isn't becoming to a gentleman, Mr. Tyler."

"I'm gonna murder you. Stop pouring that stuff— Agh!"

"You're acting like a big baby."

"What the hell are you trying to do, scald me?"

"Kill the germs."

"Damn! It's killing
me
. Do something. Blow on it."

"That only causes germs to spread."

"Blow on it!"

She bent her head over his middle and blew gently along the cut. Her breath fanned his skin and cooled the stinging whiskey in the open wound. Droplets of it had collected in the satiny stripe of hair beneath his navel. Rivulets trickled beneath the waistband of his jeans. She blotted at them with her fingertips; then, without thinking, licked the liquor off her own skin. When she realized what she'd done, she sprang upright. "Better now?" she asked huskily.

When Lucky's blue eyes connected with hers, it was like completing an electric circuit. The atmosphere crackled. Matching her husky tone of voice, he said, "Yeah, much better. But warn me next time, okay?"

"I think that'll be enough to prevent any infection."

"I'd rather have risked infection. Although," he added in a low voice, "having you blow on me was worth it."

Because that flustered her, she raised her militant shield again. "Your eye looks terrible." The steak was now lying on the pillow where it had tumbled when she surprised him with her whiskey disinfectant. She picked it up by her thumb and index finger, holding it at arm's length. "This thing stinks to high heaven." Returning it to the Styrofoam tray, she rewrapped it in its plastic covering and tossed it into the trash can. "Stay where you are. I'll go get some ice."

Taking the plastic bucket with her, she left the room. Lucky liked the rear view of her too. Nice calves, nice bottom. If he didn't feel so bad…

But he did. During the fight, a rush of adrenaline had prevented him from feeling every punch. Now he was beginning to bruise in places he didn't even remember getting struck. His head was throbbing. He was feeling woozy, too, probably from the combination of the aspirin and that last shot of whiskey.

So while the thought of thawing Dovey was enthralling, he had to be content to fantasize. He certainly wasn't in any physical condition to take it further.

She returned with a bucket of ice, and filled the center of another washcloth with a scoop of small cubes. Knotting the corners over it, she brought it back to the bed and gently laid the makeshift ice pack on his eye.

"Thanks," he mumbled sleepily, realizing that he might be a little drunk as well as hurt. Her hand felt so comforting and cool, the way his mother's always had whenever he was sick with fever. He captured Dovey's hand with his and pressed it against his hot cheek. She withdrew it and, in a schoolmarm's voice, said, "You can stay only until the swelling goes down."