Chapter 16
Women came and went in the airport bathroom while Gemma checked her reflection in the mirror and reapplied lipstick. The constant buzz of hundreds of conversations filtered into the restroom like smoke in a dusty old honky-tonk. She looked at her watch, picked up her purse, and walked out—and there was Trace leaning against the wall. She blinked, but he didn’t disappear. She blinked again, holding her eyes shut longer, but he was still there when she opened them. She squealed, did a little hop, and wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.
“I missed you,” she said.
He cupped her butt with his hands and kissed her so hard and passionately that she felt the hunger. When the kiss finally ended, she put her feet on the floor but kept her arms around his neck.
“I missed you too. Was that kiss the prelude to an invitation?” he asked hoarsely.
“Not right here, but it is for later. How did you get here?” she asked.
“My flight connects through here. I just made sure I was on the same one you are for the rest of the trip.” He brushed another kiss across her lips.
Gemma looked around. “Where is Sugar?”
“Teamer talked me into leaving her with him for the month. Little traitor ran into his house and hid under his bed when it was time to leave.”
“His house? You don’t live in the same house?” Gemma asked as she wiggled free and put her feet on the floor.
Trace laced his fingers in hers and led her to the boarding gate. “It’s a big operation. Started out as a cotton farm, and then the farm next to it came up for sale, so Teamer bought it. It was a cattle ranch. Angus and longhorns. When I came into the picture, right out of college, he settled me into the little house on the cattle part of the operation. It’s not anything fancy. Just a two-bedroom frame house that needs painting right now, but I haven’t had time to do it. It’s a mile back down a dirt road from Teamer’s place. The bunkhouse is on the original cotton farm and Louis lives there.”
“Louis?”
“He was the foreman until he retired,” Trace explained. “Now he cooks, and he and Uncle Teamer act like an old married couple. They fight and bicker all the time and even argue over who’ll get the prettiest lady at the Saturday night dance down at their favorite bar.”
Gemma thought of Nellie and Ellen. What kind of sparks would fly if Teamer and Louis ever went to a dance where those two sassy old gals were? She was still thinking about that when they boarded.
“How’d you get a seat next to me?” She put her purse in the overhead compartment and sat down beside him.
“That, darlin’, was pure luck,” Trace answered.
He rested his hand on her thigh. “I really missed you. Did you see your old boyfriends?”
“Did you see Ava?”
Trace’s jaw clamped shut.
“Aha!” Gemma said.
“What?” he barked.
“You show me yours or I don’t show you mine. We can leave the past in the past or we can discuss it, cowboy. Your choice,” she said.
“Ava was the one-weekend stand experience, like I told you. I haven’t heard from her since. Your turn,” he said.
“I did not see any old boyfriends in Ringgold. A couple of years ago, I lived with a very rich, very spoiled guy for a few months. We split up almost two years ago. Haven’t heard from or seen him since. Just as soon not ever. ’Nuff said, or do you want to elaborate on that weekend with Ava?”
“’Nuff said on my part, too, as far as I’m concerned. On to the future,” Trace said.
“Agreed,” Gemma said.
“Good. By the way, you look really sexy in those cutoff jeans,” he teased.
“Well, thank you, sir. I didn’t get dressed up because I figured I’d just be on a plane all day. I didn’t know you were going to surprise me.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“We have that layover in Oklahoma City for three hours. We’ll have lunch at the seafood place in the airport. You’ll knock them all dead in those shorts, boots, and whatever you call that shirt.” His eyes roamed over her body.
“That sounds delicious, and this is called a halter top.” Heat rose up from her toes all the way to her face.
“Well, I like it. Looks like it would come off right easy,” he said.
“Want to meet me in the bathroom and see if that mile-high stuff is as good as they say it is?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I told you I don’t do kinky stuff.”
“Darlin’, it can’t get kinky in a tiny bathroom,” she whispered.
“I’d rather wait for a big bed and lots of foreplay,” he whispered.
“To tell the truth, the whole truth, and all that, I’d rather wait too.” She snuggled in close to his side, air-conditioning blowing cool air on her warm skin, and Trace planting an occasional kiss on the top of her head or forehead. It seemed like she’d just shut her eyes when the plane landed with a little bump. She awoke with a start. “Where are we?”
“In Oklahoma City. Hungry?” He tipped her chin up and kissed her eyelids. “You slept hard, darlin’. You mumbled in your sleep, but I couldn’t understand a word of what you were saying.”
His lips settled on hers in the sweetest kiss she’d ever had in her life. Then he started humming.
She recognized the tune immediately. It was an old Stonewall Jackson song titled “Don’t Be Angry.”
“What would I have to be mad at you about?”
“I hope not a single thing.” He retrieved her purse from the overhead and handed it to her. “I’m surprised that you recognize that song.”
“It’s one of Grandpa’s requests when we play on Sunday afternoon. Sometimes Rye sings the words, and Grandpa and Granny two-step to it. How do you know it?” she asked.
“Uncle Teamer has it on an old vinyl record and I’ve heard it a million times,” Trace said.
With his hand on the small of her back, he ushered her down the corridor, out into the airport, and down the corridor a couple of doors to the seafood restaurant.
The waitress appeared and asked, “Reservations?”
“Yes, Coleman, table for four,” he said.
Four? Did Trace say four? He’d made a mistake. They only needed a table for two.
“Your party is already here. Follow me,” the waitress said.
Gemma set her heels. “What is going on, Trace?”
“Don’t be angry with me, darlin’,” he singsonged.
He grabbed her hand, and she went with him, but her dark brows were knit together in wrinkled furrows.
A man in a three-piece suit, expensive as hell and tailor-made from the looks of it, stood up and waved from a table. The lady seated beside him wore a gorgeous dress, a little lacy shrug, and high-heeled shoes, all white and all silk. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek bun at the nape of her neck, and her blue eyes looked troubled as she watched Trace near the table.
“Gemma, this is my mother, Judge Mary Coleman, and my father, Thomas Coleman, who is a lawyer. Gemma is the woman I’ve been telling y’all about, the one who is keeping me on my toes, and who is my stiffest competition in the bronc riding competition,” Trace said smoothly.
Thomas shook hands with Gemma, and Judge Mary nodded. Trace slid a chair out and Gemma melted into it, careful to sit up straight and not keep sliding until she was under the table. Trace was in so much trouble that he didn’t have enough days left in his life to get out of it.
“I’m very pleased to meet both of you,” Gemma said. “When we were in Colorado Springs, Lester, Hill, and Harper told me about you. I understand you live in Houston?”
“We do. Thomas has a law practice and I’m a judge there. Thomas was raised on a ranch out in the Panhandle, but he never liked it like his two brothers do. So you ride broncs?” Mary asked.
Gemma put on her best smile, but it felt fake. “Yes, ma’am, and I also ride bulls. I was raised on a horse ranch and have three older brothers and an older sister.”
“And you are giving my son a run for his money?” Thomas asked.
“I hope so.” Gemma’s pulse raced and her ears rang like she’d been too close to a shotgun when it went off. “But it works the other way too. He’s giving me a run for my money. It’s a tight contest, but things can change in eight seconds.”
Judge Mary might be a judge and she might try all kinds of cases where she had a poker face, but what she thought of Gemma was etched into her face like writing on a tombstone. And it was not a pretty sight.
“Shall we order?” Thomas asked.
“I’ll have shrimp scampi and a longneck Coors in the bottle,” Gemma said.
“Me too,” Trace said.
Thomas motioned for the waitress.
“Two scampi dinners and two bottles of Coors. Two lobster dinners and a bottle of whatever wine you suggest,” he said.
The lady nodded and hurried off to the kitchen.
Judge Mary raised both eyebrows so high that they kissed her dark bangs. “Beer? Really, Trace!”
He shrugged. “It’s hot. I like beer. Let’s not fight, Mother.”
Judge Mary smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We should never have let him spend summers with Teamer. I swear that man put all kinds of crazy ideas in his head.”
“He didn’t have to put them there, Mother. They were always there. I’m not a city person. I love the wide-open spaces and the smell of dirt. And if I win the Vegas ride, I’m using every single dime of the money and my savings to buy that ranch,” Trace said.
“So, what brings y’all to Oklahoma City?” Gemma changed the subject.
“Investments. Thomas wants to invest in some oil properties, and I’m not sure with the economy the way it is that it’s a good time to sink any money at all in the venture. So, we came up here to look things over before we make a final decision. When Trace said he was flying through here and had a nice layover, we arranged to have lunch with him,” Judge Mary answered.
“We’ll be flying back to Houston on the two o’clock flight,” Thomas said.
The waitress brought two beers, a bottle of white wine, and two stemmed glasses to the table. “Your salads will be here shortly. Anything else I can get you?”
Thomas shook his head and she departed. “We wanted Trace to go into law. I guess you’ve already figured that out, Gemma. But he loves ranchin’ just like my brothers and my parents did.”
Gemma turned up the bottle and swallowed several times before setting it back on the table. “I can understand what you are saying. My mama has five children. One left the area, and she didn’t like it. She gives me fits about settling around Ringgold.”
Trace reached under the table and laid a hand on her leg. She picked it up and dropped it off to one side. He wasn’t out of trouble yet. He could have told her that they were meeting his parents. She wouldn’t have worn a halter top that was all mussed up from sleeping. She would have worn jeans or maybe a flowing skirt instead of cutoff denim shorts, and sandals instead of cowboy boots. She was afraid to even think about her makeup and hair.
Judge Mary wouldn’t be a bit fooled by the fact that Gemma knew how to sit up straight and use a napkin and a fork. No, sir! It was written in that woman’s eyes that she knew her son was sleeping with Gemma, and she did not approve. Had it been a case tried in her court, she would have sentenced Gemma to life at the North Pole.
Trace Coleman had fallen from grace, and a hand on her thigh was not going to put him back on his pedestal. He could even forfeit the ride the next evening and she still wouldn’t be in a forgiving mood.