THE BEST MAN IN TEXAS Page 14

  "No way," he said, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the mug on the counter. "I'm a college professor now, not some wild-ass kid."

  "Have it your way," Delia said, rewrapping the makeshift ice pack. "And don't say I didn't warn you."

  "He shouldn't have talked to you like that." His lips grazed her neck and nibbled her earlobe. She smelled like Ivory soap. "When we were in high school," he whispered, "I used to hope that something would happen—like your car would break down or there'd be a storm or something—and I'd be the one to help you out." He leaned closer, moving his mouth to her lips. "J.C. Brown would be a big hero, rescuing Saint Delia from drowning in the river or getting swept up in a tornado."

  Her body softened against his. "I'm sorry I wasn't more accident-prone."

  "Yeah," he whispered. "But it's never too late."

  * * *

  "I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Annie began, a statement that Georgia knew could mean anything from tonight's supper plans being cancelled to tornado warnings. She held the phone closer to her ear and sat down in her favorite living room chair, the one closest to the window. That way she could see anyone who approached the front porch this afternoon. The outside thermometer read one-hundred and eight, hot even for Texas.

  "I'm sitting down, if that helps," Georgia said, trying not to yawn. She hadn't slept well last night, even after working so late, because she'd seen Delia leave the fireworks with J.C. Brown.

  "Well—"

  "Don't get your pants in a bunch, Annie. I know Delia took off with the Brown boy last night." And she sure hoped her daughter knew what she was doing. Courting trouble, if anyone asked her, but of course no one had.

  "It's not that, not exactly." Annie sighed. "J.C. was arrested for hitting Martin this morning."

  "Hitting Martin? Whatever for? And Delia? What about her?"

  "I think she's in love with him, Georgia."

  "That's not what I meant." Though that possibility was bad enough. "Is Delia all right?"

  "According to Bill Ripley's aunt—she's the one at Pecan Hollow—Martin showed up at Delia's this morning and—oh, dear, Georgia."

  "He found J.C. there," Georgia finished for her. "I guess it was inevitable."

  "Well, they sure intense last night, Georgia, out there on the dance floor. He's such a handsome man and—"

  "Annie, what happened this morning?" Thank goodness for portable phones. She could walk over to the liquor cabinet and pour a little gin into her glass of lemonade without missing one second of the conversation. "Martin was jealous and made a scene?"

  "Uh, not exactly. Betty told Bill's aunt that Julie broke up with Martin and he went over to Delia's after that and then I guess he flapped his mouth too much and wouldn't leave and J.C. belted him."

  "This is sounding like a really bad soap opera," Georgia declared, taking a sip of her drink. She added a little more gin and then returned to her chair.

  "I thought you'd be more upset." Annie sounded relieved. "Are you drinking?"

  "Yes."

  "Good."

  "I don't mind Martin getting a punch in the nose," she confessed. "I would have liked to have done that to him myself after what he did to my daughter. Maybe J.C. is going to make himself useful after all."

  "Hold on—I'm getting some tea."

  "Put some whiskey in it, unless you want to come over here and drink gin."

  "Too hot," Annie said, and Georgia heard ice cubes plunked into a glass. "I've got my air conditioner turned up high and I'm staying put in front of the TV."

  "You don't want to bail my future son-in-law out of jail?" Annie didn't say anything, so Georgia continued, "If he's going to sleep with her, he should marry her. And then have children."

  "What happened to Delia moving home?"

  "I guess I'd better give it up and settle for grandchildren instead." She took another healthy swallow of her lemonade. "Don't you think?"

  "He was awfully good with his niece and nephew. And his and Delia's babies would be terribly good-looking."

  "Yes," Georgia said. "My thoughts exactly."

  * * *

  "I don't know what was worse," Joe said, stepping out of his truck in front of Betty's trailer. "Getting tossed in jail or having your mother show up to bail me out."

  "That was a shock," Delia admitted, waiting by her car. Georgia had seemed almost disappointed to discover that Martin had dropped the charges, thanks to Julie's intervention, and Joe was about to leave the July police station without having needed Georgia's bail money.

  "I haven't been arrested in years," Joe mused, seeming more casual about the whole mess than she thought normal. "And I never had so many people trying to get me out of jail as I did this afternoon."

  "I'm sorry," she said, unwilling to follow him into the Brown home.

  He gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. "I'm not. I'd hit him again."

  "Don't say that."

  Joe's smile faded. "I'll admit, sweetheart, that I'm looking forward to going home. You want to come with me? See the ranch? Meet the horses?"

  She hesitated, unsure of the invitation. "Maybe," she said. "For a couple of days."

  "Let's leave in the morning." He wrapped his arms around her as Hank opened the door, ran to greet them and wrapped his arms around their legs.

  "Uncle Joe! Dee-yah!"

  "Hey, kid." Joe released Delia and picked up his nephew. "I guess I'd better go inside and thank Julie for her help."

  "I wonder what she promised Martin to get him to drop the charges and apologize to you."

  "I don't want to know," he answered. "Are you going to bed early or can I come over later?"

  "You can come over." She looked at him and winked. You can sleep in my bed, too. Eventually.

  His smile proved he got the message.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  «^»

  "This is the best thing that's happened all day," Delia said, rolling on top of Joe and leaning forward for his kiss. It was after ten on one of the hottest nights so far this summer, so they'd met after dinner and eaten ice cream from the carton in bed, the cool air-conditioned air making the trailer feel like the inside of a refrigerator.

  "Damn right, sweetheart." His hands framed her face. "I think I've had enough of July for a while."

  "I'm sorry." It had been the day-from-hell, starting with Martin's whining and ending—finally—with naked Joe, who wasn't whining at all. In fact, the man looked positively content with his life. His knuckles, still red and swollen, were the only reminders of this morning's mess.

  "Quit saying that. It's not your fault I landed in jail. Besides," he said, smiling. "Your mother was actually nice to me. What was all that about? Did she ever tell you?"

  "She'd been drinking."

  "That explains it, then. I thought that friend of hers—"

  "Annie," Delia supplied. He tasted like chocolate when she kissed him.

  "Yeah. I thought Annie smelled a little like whiskey, but on a Saturday afternoon?"

  "They're known to kick back a few, especially when they're worried about something." And her mother wouldn't have taken the news of Joe's arrest well. "I still don't understand why she went to the sheriff to have you bailed out."

  "Maybe she's changed her mind about the Browns." His hand skimmed over her bare breasts. "Or maybe she liked the fact that your ex-husband got his nose broken."

  "She muttered something about him to Sheriff Barker, but I didn't hear."

  "She kept giving me very strange looks," Joe said. "She thinks I'm falling in love with you." She couldn't believe those words had slipped out.

  "Good. Because it damn well better be mutual."

  "Meaning?" He loves me?

  "Sweetheart, I've fallen so hard that I'm about half-crazy. So we're getting out of here first thing in the morning."

  She wriggled against his erection. "First thing?"

  "Second thing."

  "After sex, after coffee, after—" She sto
pped talking when he lifted her hips and slid himself into her. She didn't know how anything could be so right, so perfect, so absolutely wonderful, but if this was love, then she was ready to enjoy every minute. So much for one-night stands.

  Hours later, long after darkness overtook the trailer, Delia threw back the sheet and coughed. Somebody was burning trash, she thought sleepily. And the smell was seeping into the trailer.

  "Yuk," she said aloud, sitting up and frowning. She rose to go to the bathroom, but a film of smoke stopped her from seeing the door.

  "Joe? Joe!" She put her hand out and grabbed the doorjamb. The burning smell was coming from inside the trailer. She reached for the light switch, but the power didn't come on.

  "What?"

  "I think the trailer's on fire. There's smoke everywhere and it smells really bad." She heard him hurry toward her, then his hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to the floor.

  "Stay low," he said. "We need to get out of here without breathing any of this."

  "But we don't have any clothes—"

  "Wait a sec." He rustled around the floor and came up with his T-shirt, which he handed to her. "Put that on."

  "I don't see any fire," she said, pulling the shirt over her head. She heard him bang into the bed and figured he was finding something to put on. The smoke was getting thicker by the second, but Delia couldn't believe that there was really a fire. "Maybe it's some kind of weird electrical problem. I don't hear a fire."

  "Something's wrong." He moved past her on his hands and knees. "Follow me. We're going to get out. Now."

  "But my things—"

  "Now," he said, grabbing her wrist to make her start crawling after him as the smoke detector in the kitchen started to beep.

  She thought of her beads and books, Uncle Gin's guitars and the boxes of music she'd organized into notebooks. Everything could be lost if the place really was in danger of burning up. She coughed again, and hurried after Joe.

  "Shit," he muttered. "It's getting worse. Stay down." They needed wet cloths to put over their faces, she realized, but she didn't detour to get any as they crawled past the bathroom. After what seemed like an endless amount of time, Joe reached the kitchen door and pushed it open. Clean, hot air greeted them as soon as they tumbled out of the door and climbed down the warm steps.

  "Now what?"

  "Wait here," he said. "I'm going to call the fire department."

  She watched as he sprinted across the road to Betty's. He wore nothing but white jockey shorts, but there was no one awake to see a mostly nude man running away from her smoking trailer in the middle of the night. She wondered where she'd left her cell phone, wished she had slept with underpants on, slapped mosquitoes as the smoke continued to puff from the open kitchen door.

  There was still no sign of flames, but she knew that even without seeing fire, the firemen would douse the trailer with water and ruin everything. Joe disappeared into his mother's double-wide and she saw the lights come on before she crawled back inside to rescue the stack of notebooks on the kitchen table. It was harder to see than before, but she scrambled along the kitchen floor until she reached the table and grabbed the books.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "The songs," she gasped, tossing the books toward the door where Joe's voice came.

  "It's not worth—oh, hell." He was behind her in seconds, helping her toss the books out the door, swearing when she tried to remove Gin's guitars from the wall above the couch. "Go," he said, his voice hoarse.

  "But the guitars—"

  "I'll get them. Get down and get out."

  She did as he said, scurrying along the floor toward the door. A flashlight lit the way, spilling light from the outside.

  "Are you okay?" Julie grabbed her hand and helped her down the stairs.

  "Fine," she said, coughing a little as she turned to watch for Joe. "Joe?"

  "Here." He appeared in the door and handed her the guitars. "Hurry and get back, both of you. It's getting worse in there."

  Delia gave a guitar to Julie and retrieved the notebooks from the dirt.

  "Toss them in your car and I'll drive it out of the way," Joe ordered. "The sooner we get out of here the better."

  No one argued. Delia followed Julie across the street while Joe backed her car out of the driveway and parked it next to his truck. Delia watched in horror as flames shot out of the opened trailer door. "I can't believe this is happening."

  "You two had better get some clothes on," Julie said when her brother joined them on the front lawn. "Here come the neighbors and the fire trucks."

  Betty called to them from the front door. "Joseph? What's happening? And why don't you have any pants—oh, my goodness."

  "You shouldn't ask a man that question," he said, walking toward the back door. "Not at three in the morning."

  "Never mind," she said, as the fire trucks screamed into the park. "I'll get you both something to wear."

  Delia looked down at the notebook she still clutched to her chest. A plastic-covered page had ripped and stuck out from the binder. She opened the book to stuff the page back inside when, from the light of Julie's flashlight, she read the title of the song: "I Used To Be On Fire, Now I'm Just Burning Down." She didn't think she'd be singing that one anytime soon.

  * * *

  "You got to be a hero after all," Delia sniffed, wiping her nose on a tissue from the box she kept on ha lap. Joe figured she'd been crying for about an hour now and he would do and say anything to get her to stop.

  If he could think of anything.

  "Joseph's always been good in a crisis," his mother said. They were sitting around the Browns' kitchen table. Now that the firemen were gone and the sun was up, nobody seemed to know what to do. The neighbors, still walking past the trailer to see the destruction, pointed and shook their heads, while inside Joe and his family wondered how to comfort the woman who'd lost her house and all of her possessions.

  "It doesn't take a genius to get out of a smoking building," he pointed out. Joe wanted nothing more than to take Delia in his arms and carry her out of the room to abed. She looked exhausted, despite the coffee she'd been drinking for hours. Georgian, called at dawn by her daughter, had arrived at high speed an hour ago.

  "Did they say—"

  "The air conditioner probably. It was as old as the trailer and the wiring was faulty At least that's what the fire chief said."

  "Oh. The switch was turned off when I moved in." Delia wiped her eyes again. "We turned it back on because of the heat."

  "And the smell," Georgia said. "Don't forget that."

  "The old man likely didn't run the air conditioning much," Betty pointed out. "He sure didn't seem to feel the heat."

  "Yes," Georgia agreed. "He said the sun made his bones feel better, that if folks couldn't take the heat they should move to Alaska."

  "Maybe I should move to Alaska then." Her mother handed Delia a fresh cup of coffee.

  "Come home for a few days first." Georgia patted her shoulder. "Before you make any decisions about your future."

  "What about your old house?" Julie met her brother's raised eyebrows. "Well? It's still her house until Martin sells it."

  "No, thanks." Delia picked up her coffee mug and turned around to look out the window at the remains of her trailer. "Who would think something made of metal would burn up like that?"

  "It didn't exactly burn up," Georgia said. "'Melted' might be a better word."

  "At least no one was hurt," Betty added. "Fire truck," Hank crowed, showing off one of last year's Christmas presents. Joe made sure the truck didn't land on the kitchen table and scooped the child onto the chair next to his.

  "Yeah," he said. "That's a fire truck, all right. Don't hit anyone with it, buddy."

  "'Kay." Hank clutched the truck to his chest.

  "At least I got Uncle Gin's music out safe."

  "That's something," Georgia agreed, but her expression clearly showed that she didn't see a reason to celebr
ate.

  "I really liked that trailer. It was the first place that belonged just to me." Delia looked down at the clothes she wore: Joe's T-shirt along with Julie's underpants and denim maternity shorts. "I'm going to have to go shopping."

  "Good idea," said Georgia, standing up and picking up her purse. "That will cheer you up. Come home now and take a shower."

  Julie nodded. "You can take any of my clothes that you want, Delia."

  "Seeing how you took her husband," Georgia said, "I guess that's a fair enough trade."

  "Ignore her," Delia said. "My mother has never been tactful."

  To Joe's surprise, Betty laughed. "Well, isn't that the truth! Georgia, you've always said what you meant, no matter what. I wish I had that kind of nerve."

  Delia's mother looked intrigued. "If you did, what would you say?"

  Betty smiled. "I'd tell you to mind your manners and start acting nicer to my children."

  "Point taken. Delia? Put that tissue box down and get a grip on yourself. Losing Gin's trailer isn't the end of the world. Nobody died. You can buy more clothes and more beads and more books. Come home with me and clean up."

  "I'll take her to town later, Mrs. Ball." Joe decided that it was time he put Delia back to bed. "She can rest here for a while."

  "But—"

  "The stores aren't going to open for hours, so I'll come home later." Delia took Joe's hand and got to her feet. "I think I'd rather go to bed with Joe now." She blushed. "I mean, I think I'll go lie down. Alone."

  He leaned over and whispered, "I liked it the first way."

  "Shh."

  He led her down the hall after she'd say goodbye to everyone. He tucked her into his bed and covered her with an ivory sheet. "Are you going to be okay?"

  "Sure." Her smile was a little wobbly. "This is just a temporary setback to my life of independence."

  "Speaking of your life," Joe began, wishing he could come up with a better way to say this. "Why don't you start it over in Austin? With me."

  "I never thought about moving to Austin," she said. "I'd like to see your ranch, though."

  "And I intend to show it to you." He took a deep breath and brushed the hair from her cheek. "Marry me, Delia. I know this is fast, but the fire—well, what the hell? I think I've loved you for a long time. And I know I'm in love with you now. Why wait?"