Lady Be Good Part 9

"Uh-huh." He slid the tortilla chip he'd just loaded up into her mouth.

The salsa was hot and, by the time she'd gotten her breath back, the rest of their food had arrived. While they ate, Kenny entertained her with local lore, and she soon found herself laughing at his stories. He could be a charming companion when he set his mind to it, or perhaps it was simply the glow of her colossal-sized margarita because she found herself enveloped in a fuzzy-headed blur.

She excused herself to go to the loo, and, when she returned, another margarita was waiting for her. This one had a slightly different taste, but was equally delicious. Remembering the needles, she gave herself permission to indulge. Multicolored rainbows began dancing on the stucco walls.

Finally, Kenny pushed away the last bits of his cinnamon-dusted fried ice cream and paid the bill, even though she'd told him the meal was her treat. "It's getting close to ten," he said. "We'd better be on our way. That is if you're still intent on doing this."

"Oh, yes." Her voice was a little loud, and she attempted to lower it. "I haven't changed my mind." She stood, and the room began to spin.

"Steady, now." He took her arm and guided her through the restaurant. On their way to the door, he returned the greetings of the fans who wanted to catch his attention.

She expected the fresh air to revive her, but it didn't, and as the lights of the parking lot spun around her, she tried to make herself care that she'd had far too much to drink. "Kenny, you never told me what you did to get suspended from the tour."

"That's because you wouldn't like the answer."

She wanted to spread her arms, embrace the night, embrace him. "Tonight there's nothing I wouldn't like."

"All right then ... among other things, I punched a woman."

It was the last thing she remembered.

Emma heard water running and realized the second form students had turned the hose on again outside her cottage. They liked to fill her birdbath, but they didn't always remember to turn off the spigot. She frowned and tried to shape the words to remind them, but couldn't manage.

The water stopped running. She settled deeper into her comfortable bed.

"Emma?"

She peeled her eyelids open just enough to see a white ceiling. Too white a ceiling to belong in her dear cottage. And where was the petal-shaped crack over her bed?

"Emma?"

She forced her eyelids the rest of the way open and saw Kenny coming across the carpet toward the bed. What was Kenny doing in her cottage?

He had a towel tucked around his hips, another draped over his shoulders. His hair was wet and mussed.

The world slipped back into place, and she realized she was in his condo. In his bed.

She groaned.

"Rise and s.h.i.+ne, Queen Elizabeth."

"What am I doing here?" she croaked.

"I've got a fresh pot of coffee downstairs that I think might appeal to you. You definitely can't hold your liquor."

"Please ..." she managed, as she took in the rumpled bed. "Tell me I don't owe you thirty dollars."

"Honey, after what happened last night, I owe you."

She moaned and buried her face in the pillow.

He chuckled. "You are one wildcat between the sheets, I'll tell you that."

She forced herself to look at him, then sagged back into the pillows as she took in the diabolic gleam in his eyes. "Save your energy. Nothing happened."

"What makes you think that?"

"You're still standing."

Another chuckle.

Considering her impaired physical condition, she thought that was a fairly cheeky response, but she felt too dreary to take much satisfaction from it. She eased herself into a sitting position and saw she was wearing a University of Texas T-s.h.i.+rt, her bra, and her underpants. Right now she wouldn't let herself think about how she'd gotten out of her clothes.

"Do you want me to turn the shower on for you?"

She stumbled toward the bathroom door. "I'll turn it on for myself. You may fetch my coffee."

"Yes, Your Ladys.h.i.+p."

She shut the bathroom door, peeled his T-s.h.i.+rt over her head, let her bra drop, and turned toward the sink.

That was when she screamed.

On the other side of the door, Kenny grinned, then listened as Emma's scream changed into something close to a sob. His grin grew broader, only to fade into a scowl as he heard feet pounding on the stairs. "s.h.i.+t."

The bedroom door shot open, and a gorgeous brunette with inky black hair and a model's body burst in. "Jeeze, Kenny, did you kill one this time?"

Emma flew out from the bathroom, a large towel wrapped around her body, her eyes the size of a fairly decent water hazard. "What did you do to me!" "What did you do to me!"

"Emma, I'd like you to meet my baby sister, Torie. Torie, this is Lady Emma Wells-Finch."

As Emma tried to get her mouth to work, Kenny noticed that Torie was outfitted, as usual, in Nieman Marcus's best, one of those simple little dresses that cost more than the national debt, along with an expensive pair of Italian sandals. A couple of divot-sized diamond studs flashed at her ears, a wedding gift from her last ex-husband.

Her hair was as dark as his and jaw-length, except around her face where it was cut shorter. At twenty-eight, she was tall, lean, green-eyed, and gorgeous. She was also a pain in the a.s.s. Still, he loved her, and he might be the only person in the world who understood how much unhappiness lurked beneath her good ol' girl bl.u.s.ter.

"Don't you ever use a doorbell?" he grumbled.

"Why should I when I have a perfectly good key?" She regarded Emma with interest. "Honey, that is one h.e.l.l h.e.l.l of a tattoo you got there." of a tattoo you got there."

Ignoring her, Emma charged toward him, tears glistening in her eyes. "How could you have let this happen?"

He studied the red, white, and blue Lone Star flag that now flew across a good portion of her upper left arm along with a curling banner beneath it that read Kenny Kenny.

"Wasn't much I could do about it. You know how you are when you've got your mind set on something."

"I was drunk."

"You can say that again."

"At least it's not ordinary," Torie said in an attempt to be kind.

Emma stared at her as Torie extended her hand. "Nice to meet you, Lady Emma. In case you missed the introduction, I'm Torie Traveler. I had a couple of other last names, but I recently got rid of them and went back to the basics. Don't be offended when I tell you that you have terrible taste in men." She dropped Emma's hand and turned on Kenny. "You could have returned at least one of my phone calls, you sonovab.i.t.c.h."

"Why? You'll just tell me I have to go to Wynette, and I don't want to go to Wynette right now."

"Fine. You can ignore me until the wedding, then."

"You and Phillip Morris tying the knot?" he asked.

"His name is Phillip Morrison, and you know very well that's not the wedding I'm talking about."

"Things between you and Phillip didn't work out, I take it."

"He wanted me to stop cussing and give him ten strokes." She plopped one graceful hand on her hip. "I swear I couldn't go through the rest of my life watching that golf swing of his without providing some semi-obscene commentary."

"You broke up with him because you didn't like his swing?"

"That and the fact that he named his c.o.c.k."

"Lots of men do that."

"Yeah, but do they call it Barbie?"

Kenny sighed. "You're making this up."

"I wish I was."

Emma couldn't stand it any longer, and she whirled on him. "How did I get this tattoo!"

"You were dead set on it."

"A flower! I wanted a small flower!"

"Not last night you didn't. And, honey, you should be thanking me instead of yelling because you also ordered up the Union Jack for your other arm. When I put my foot down about that, we had a rip-snortin' fight. I finally had to carry you out of the tattoo parlor kicking and screaming. I was afraid to take you back to the hotel, which is why you ended up here."

Emma sagged down on the side of the bed. "But I only had two margaritas. How could I lose my memory on two drinks?"

"Each one of them packed a pretty good wallop. And you don't seem to tolerate alcohol too well."

She buried her head in her hands. "Nothing's gone right since the moment I met you."

"Which should pretty much give you a clue how the rest of your relations.h.i.+p's gonna progress," Torie said, heading toward the mirror to check her hair. "Kenny has a not-so-secret aversion to intimacy brought on by an unhealthy early relations.h.i.+p with our late, unlamented mother."

"Will you shut up!"

Torie fluffed her bangs. "He bounces back and forth between bimbos, because they're safe, and real women with actual brains, because that's the type he naturally prefers. But the key word here is bounce bounce. He's pretty much the Bermuda Triangle when it comes to committed relations.h.i.+ps. Count yourself lucky if you figure that out early on."

"Will you get the h.e.l.l out of here!" He spoke before Emma had a chance to clarify their relations.h.i.+p.

"Not till you promise to come back to Wynette. Daddy's planning to hold the wedding while you're on suspension so he can make sure you'll be there."

"You just said you and Phillip broke up."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about! My wedding to that dweeb Dexter O'Conner."

"When are you going to figure out that they can't have a wedding without your cooperation?" He whipped the towel from around his neck and tossed it aside.

"That's easy to say, but Daddy's putting a lot of pressure on me. He's given me thirty days to get Dexter's ring on my finger or he's canceling my charge cards. Then how am I going to pay my feed bill?"

"He's bluffing." Kenny headed into his walk-in closet.

"Not this time." Her voice grew small and discouraged. "Maybe I should just marry Dexter." She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "That and getting divorced are about the only things I do really well."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"Do you think I'd even consider it if I wasn't desperate?" she retorted angrily. "Those emus are getting bigger all the time, and it costs a fortune to feed them. Daddy's been complaining about it for a while, but he hasn't threatened to cut me off until now."

"If you'd sent those birds to that great big emu pasture in the sky like I told you, this wouldn't have happened."

"I couldn't do that, and you know it!

Emma was temporarily distracted from her own misery. "Emus?"

"They look exactly like ostriches that have been dipped in chimney soot," Kenny explained. "The most b.u.t.t-ugly bird you've ever seen."

"They are not!" Torie protested. Then she shrugged. "All right. Maybe they aren't too attractive, but they're sweet."

"And therein lies the problem," Kenny drawled. "My sister, the genius entrepreneur, got sucked into the emu craze a few years back when people started hearing about how they could make a fortune raising the birds because they didn't take up much land and there was going to be a huge market for emu products."

"I needed to be self-supporting so I could get out of my marriage," Torie interrupted. "And their oil has exceptional healing properties. It's used to treat injuries in the NFL. Plus, emu meat has more protein, half the calories, and less fat than beef, but it tastes exactly the same."

"How would you know, since you've never eaten a bite of emu in your life?"

"Someday."

He snorted. "Unfortunately, the emu market has been slow to materialize. Not that it would have made much difference to my sister because the few times she's had a chance to sell one or two of her birds for meat, she's refused to do it."

She turned to Emma. "Whenever I thought about having them slaughtered, my face broke out. I tried to sell breeding pairs, but n.o.body's buying these days."

"Now she's stuck with feeding a growing herd of emus n.o.body wants."

"It's sort of an existentialist nightmare." She gave a deep sigh, then the corner of her mouth quirked. "On the other hand, life always has its bright side, and at least I don't have a tattoo of the Lone Star on my arm."

Emma glanced down at the horrific tattoo and shuddered. She would have to wear long sleeves for the rest of her life.

Her muzzy head, the trauma of the tattoo, and the sheer force of Torie's invasion into Kenny's bedroom had kept her from processing the real content of their conversation, but now she began to absorb it. "Are you saying your father is trying to force you into marrying someone you dislike?"