The Girl with the Golden Spurs. Ann Major
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long silence.
“No, he’s not dead, and I don’t want no corpse in my bed! Do you hear me? No! I didn’t do anything to him. We were making love.” Another long silence. “No. No drugs. A stroke maybe… I’m not a doctor. I don’t know. Just hurry!”
Lizzy—he had to warn her.
Why in the name of God had he told everybody he wanted her to succeed him? By doing so, he’d signed her death warrant.
He fought to say her name, but his lips felt like cold concrete.
Imprisoned in his own body, he could only stare helplessly at Cherry, who was watching him, too. Her pretty face beneath her straw-white mane was a mask of disgust. Her eyes were cold and soulless. His throat tightened.
She got up slowly. Lifting her sequined cowboy hat off its nail, she put it on. Then she twirled round and round for him just like she had the first night.
“What’s going on in that mind of yours, big daddy?” Spreading her long legs, she made a faux bow.
She pitched her hat toward the bed and went to her mirror where she made up her mouth with vivid red lipstick and combed and fluffed her hair.
When she turned around again and smiled at him, she looked more ravishing than ever.
But it didn’t matter. He felt nothing, absolutely nothing for her.
Only Lizzy mattered.
And Electra. She would always matter.
He remembered the day he’d stood in the rain and scat tered her ashes under the Spur Tree because she’d written in her will that that was her final wish. She’d chosen to be with him in death at least.
Joanne had been furious when he’d had a bronze marker placed beneath the tree with Electra’s name on it.
“Jack’s spurs are there, aren’t they?” he’d said to shut Joanne up.
Electra. Always Electra.
He had to stay alive to save their daughter.
Four
Manhattan
Too much was happening to her.
The phone was ringing, but Lizzy ignored it. She was too busy watching the two naked men writhe on her television screen with a total absorption that would have embarrassed her had she been of sound mind, which after the catastrophic events of today—she was not.
The late-afternoon sunlight was still red and sparkling outside her window, and the air was crisp and cool. It was a gorgeous evening for a walk. The smart Lizzy had known she should have gone with Walker and Vanilla when Walker had been nice enough to invite her, but the self-destructive Lizzy had been depressed at the thought of an activity that might cheer her up. That Lizzy had wanted, no, needed, to indulge in her very own pity party.
How could such a gorgeous day have been so terrible?
Finally the phone was silent.
For the first time in her life Lizzy wished she’d listened to her friend Mandy and had gotten into astrology or something useful. Maybe then she would have seen some cosmic warning in her horoscope or palm today.
Your life as you know it, as you dream it, is over now.
Her life was a joke. First Bryce. Then Nell. And now Walker.
It’s your own fault that you know about Walker.
Curiosity had led her to darker places before this, surely it had, although she couldn’t think of any.
Finding out about Walker’s private tape collection was the last thing she needed tonight. So why had she played the video the second Walker had left with Vanilla?
Because I’m a glutton for punishment. Because like every other female on earth, I’m like Pandora. If you tell me something is forbidden, I just have to open the box.
She remembered her father being hell-bent on making a man of Walker, as he’d put it. He’d made Walker hunt and ride and participate in rodeos. Daddy had bragged and bragged about how Walker had tamed the wildest broncs or killed the most game while both Hawk and Walker had flushed and looked uncomfortable. She thought about how Hawk had always been so protective of Walker.
The phone started ringing again, and Lizzy felt heavy demands from home. She felt guilty about not answering and torn because she actually wanted to talk to her mother. But if she talked to her right now, she’d tell her everything. Maybe she’d even mention Walker.
Mother—get a life.
Tough talk for a self-destructive wimp.
How many times had Mother called already? Seven? It seemed to Lizzy the phone had been ringing forever as she stared at her television screen where two men, obviously lovers, embraced. Then almost immediately the men lay down together on the bed again, and their bodies began to writhe.
The phone stopped ringing for at least a whole minute. Not that the lovers stopped what they were doing on that bed.
Just because he has a gay video doesn’t mean he’s gay. Maybe he was just curious and bought it as a joke. Maybe some gay guy with a crush on him had slipped it into his luggage… Maybe…
The phone started again. Mother had to be the most persistent human being in the world. Lizzy knew it was her mother because she’d checked her caller ID twice before when the phone had rung right after Walker had taken Vanilla down for a walk in the park and to buy take-out Chinese. She’d been hoping, of course, that it was Bryce or Nell calling to say they hadn’t meant any of it.
As the phone continued to ring, Lizzy wiped at her damp eyes. One of the men was tall and blond, like Bryce; the other short and dark and very muscular like her cousin, Sam. The darker man had seven little daggers tattooed onto his forearm. Lizzy knew exactly how many daggers—because she’d counted them twice, maybe to keep her gaze there instead of drifting to the lower part of the men’s bodies, which the camera was now focusing upon.
She averted her gaze, but out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of the men’s supple, perfect bodies tensing, coming closer to some fatal edge. She saw all the parts of their magnificent bodies, yes, all the parts, those long rigid parts with the thick purple veins, and suddenly she started thinking about how long it had been since she and Bryce had had sex.
Men liked watching women with each other. Why? Should she be turned on by watching two men? Was something wrong with her because she resented this video? She thought about Bryce…about his leaving her…about her being too dull…especially in bed.
It was all her fault. What would a kick-ass fantasy heroine do?
What if…what if she proved to him she wasn’t as dull as he thought she was? What if she made him see her as a completely different kind of woman…the way she was seeing Walker in a whole new light?
The men in the video were shouting at each other, soundlessly, because Lizzy had muted the volume.
Look away. Don’t watch anymore. Don’t torture yourself.
She felt far too insane to take sane advice, even from herself. It made her feel crazy to associate her sweet, wonderful brother with what she was watching. Walker had been so dear and thoughtful before he’d left with Vanilla. He’d sensed something was wrong, but unlike Mother, he hadn’t pushed her. He’d simply offered to take the baby out and buy dinner for them. He’d given her space, a precious commodity in Manhattan if ever there was one. Especially, for a Texan used to wide-open spaces.
“You’re sure Bryce won’t come home starved—”
She mumbled something to Walker about Bryce working late.
“So, if Bryce isn’t coming home, are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” His eyes had been so kind. As if he knew. “It’s