Page 30 of Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas 2)

There was something missing. Why would Francesca care so much about having Kenny escort her? It made no sense. “What could she have been thinking of? She must have known we’d be oil and water.”

“All her years on that talk show have done something sadistic to her brain. She likes putting unlikely people together, then watching them kill each other so she can feast on the remains.”

That didn’t sound like Francesca. There were definitely a few missing pieces here, but she was unlikely to find out what they were from Kenny.

He gazed at her with displeasure. “You going to eat or just keep licking your lip like that?”

“Licking my lip?”

“I’m not one to cast stones, since I have my own share of bad habits, but you need to leave that bottom lip of yours alone. You’re always nibbling at it or licking it or something. It’s distracting.”

“You know, Kenny, I’m getting more than a little annoyed with your criticism.”

“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 shine, Queen Elizabeth.”

“What am I doing here?” she croaked.

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