Place Your Betts (The Marilyns) (7 page)

Charlie and Lucky. Why did those names sound familiar? “Aren’t those your friends from high school? Something about Marilyn Monroe.”

“That’s right.” Betts watched him closely. “Why would you remember that?”

Because he remembered everything about her, even if he didn’t want to.

“You’re…
oh my God
.” Scarlett look-alike’s eyes turned mean. “How dare you step foot in this house after what you did to Betts—”

“Time to go.” Tall grabbed Short’s arm and pulled her to the door. “Bloodshed will ruin that outfit. Besides, I’m hungry.”

“But he’s—”

“I know. Let’s go.” Tall slipped an arm around Short. “Time for a Reese’s Blizzard.”

Short turned back to Gabe and tapped her left temple with her forefinger. “I’ve got my eye on you. You hurt her again and I’ll rip you limb from limb.”

Tall half pulled, half carried Short out the door.

“I’m not going to lie. That was a little scary,” Gabe said as the door slammed shut.

“Charlie is very loyal. She may be little, but she’s tough.” Betts pulled the curtains open.

“Want some witnesses in case I murder you?” Gabe watched her.

Betts turned back around. “Something like that.”

The fact that they were now alone in the house where they’d made love for the last time settled like a quilt of memories around him. “So the Amazon was Lucky? Did she really not know that her husband had three kids with his mistress?”

Small talk would hopefully give him time to bolster the mad he’d rode over here on.

Betts sighed loudly. “Thank God Charlie didn’t hear you ask that or you’d be minus a few limbs by now.”

“Ricky Strickland was a hell of a musician.” So that’s how Betts had gotten her break in the music business. She’d used her friend’s husband. Using people, that’s what she did best. The mad was working its way back.

“Yeah, but he was a shitty husband.” Betts said.

Gabe walked into the living room. “We need to talk.”

“Make yourself at home. I’d offer you refreshments, but the urge to lace them with rat poison may be too great to resist.” Her sticky-sweet smile was homicide disguised as southern hospitality.

He headed to the fifties-era pink sofa. The coffee table and surrounding floor were littered with sheet music, and a battered guitar perched in the rocker next to the couch. The last time he’d sat on this sofa with her, Gabe had practiced his fine motor skills by unhooking and removing her bra. She’d complimented him on his dexterity. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

She moved her guitar and sat down in the rocker.

“How long are you staying?” His voice was breathless when it should have been harsh. Here it was seventeen years later, and he was fighting the urge to do something stupid to impress her.

Betts pegged him with her bright green eyes. “As long as it takes to get to know my son. Every child should know
both
his parents—”

“Yes, but should
both
parents know their child?” Gabe propped his hat on his knee. “He’s been here all this time and you chose now? Why?”

“I had no idea where he was or even his name. The last time I saw him, he weighed seven and a half pounds.” She was all innocence.

He shot her a
yeah right
look. Gigi had made it clear that Betts wanted nothing to do with Tom. “So what do you want from him?”

“To get to know him, to be in his life.” Betts tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m his mother. I have a right.”

“You gave birth to him, and you gave him away. You are
not
his mother.”

Her face fell, and bone-deep regret glowed in her eyes. He’d expected anger or sarcasm but not regret. The Betts he’d known didn’t do regret. Was it possible that she’d grown up?

“I was sixteen; it wasn’t my choice.” Her voice was squeaky and small like the words had bubbled to the surface on their own.

“You gave birth to him. How was it not your choice?” The fifty thousand she’d been paid by the Snyders for an illegal adoption was why she’d done it, but he wanted to hear her admit that she’d sold her baby to the highest bidder.

Her back straightened, and her voice turned hard. “I was a minor. Gigi took care of everything. She told me that I didn’t have a choice.”

He hadn’t thought about that angle.

Betts shot out of the chair and glared at him. Here was the Betts he remembered. “Until a couple of days ago, I had no idea where my baby boy was. I got a letter from Gigi’s estate telling me he was here, so I got in the car and drove. I didn’t stop until my car ran off the road. How did you come to have him?”

Like she didn’t know. This whole innocent song and dance was getting tiresome. He hated that part of him wanted to believe her. Betts had always been able to manipulate him. “What do you want from Tom? And what terrible upheaval should I expect in Tom’s life when you move on?”

“I’m here to stay.” She took a deep breath. “I want to know him, be a part of his life.”

An odd thought struck Gabe. “You aren’t dying, are you? You don’t need his kidney or bone marrow or something?”

She wouldn’t have been the first birth parent to track down her child because she needed a body part.

The corners of her mouth curled up in a smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m healthy as a horse. I don’t plan on stripping him down for parts. My imminent demise may not be as imminent as you’d like.”

“I like that…imminent demise. I don’t suppose you’d roll over and play dead for the next fifteen or twenty years. I’m sure Tom would love to meet his long-lost mother on his thirtieth birthday.”

“Um, no. I’m here and I’m staying.” Her ponytail flopped across her cheek. She wound a lock of hair around her finger. That was her thoughtful pose—or it had been. The last time he’d seen it, she’d been naked from the waist up, straddling him, and trying to figure out how to unhook his belt buckle.

“And no chance of talking you out of it?” He certainly didn’t have the money to pay her off this time.

“Not a chance in hell, Blondie.” Her eyes went huge.

Good to know she remembered her old nickname for him. Seeing her in person, it was hard to think of her as heartless and mercenary, but she had been.

Betts recovered her composure. “Tom and I are about to become BFFs.”

“I expect that’s up to him. You can try.” Gabe returned her smile. The old yearning to touch her tingled through him. In a gesture that was too jerky and deliberate to be casual, he touched her shoulder. “Be gentle with him. His life hasn’t been easy…especially before I tracked him down and adopted him. He knows I’m his biological father, but I’d prefer he never finds out the details of his first…home.”

“I don’t understand.” Her eyebrows hunched together.

Was she playing innocent because she couldn’t face the truth? Rehashing the past would only make him angry, and that wouldn’t serve either of them.

“I’ll agree to let you see Tom on one condition: under no circumstances can you tell him that you’re his mother. He’s been through enough, and I won’t have him hurt again.” He stuck out his hand to shake on it. “Agreed?”

Betts looked like she was about to say something else and then bit her bottom lip, met his eye, and shook his hand.

At her touch, the same old spark sizzled through him.

She dropped her hand. “You’re being so gracious about the whole thing. Funny, I don’t remember you being this mature and fair-minded. Not that I don’t like it, but I keep hearing the theme from the Twilight Zone playing in my head.”

Still holding his hand, she stepped closer and inspected him from head to toe. “You’re not a robot are you? If I put my ATM card in your mouth, can I withdraw money like in the Stepford Wives?”

“If you stick anything in my mouth, it had better be your tongue.” He’d wanted to catch her off guard, and it had worked…too well.

The heat radiating off her was enough to melt the soles of his boots into the pink carpet. She opened her mouth, and he couldn’t tear his eyes off her lips. The top was fuller than the bottom. If he moved two inches closer, he would finally find out if she really tasted like he remembered—fresh peaches warmed in the sun.

Seventeen years of pent-up lust and rage and guilt smoldered in the inches that separated them. She dropped his hand and stepped back.

“I’ll pass.” Her voice was throaty and soft and sexy as hell. “I gave up sex with robots last year. They don’t build them like they used to, and the cost of replacement parts was killing me.”

“Your loss.” And his too. Gabe grabbed his hat and headed for the door. He’d come over here to get answers, but all he’d gotten were a hard-on and more questions. He touched the doorknob and turned back to her. “Tom isn’t to know you’re his mother—got it?”

“Loud and clear, Gabebot.” She winked and blew him a saucy kiss.

The chemistry that had always exploded between them had him out the door and rocketing across the lawn to the driveway before he threw himself at her.

Inside the truck, he rammed the seat belt in the buckle, shoved the key in the ignition, and threw the truck into reverse. He peeled out of the driveway, scattering the onlookers waiting for Betts to throw them another bone.

She had done it again. Touching her and he turned stupid. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans. The old man had been right; Betts could fuddle Gabe’s brain without breaking a sweat. All it took was a pout on those lips and his body fairly vibrated with need.

He shifted his weight. The bulge in his jeans was uncomfortable. His heart knew Betts was a liar, but his libido had always marched to a different drummer. Right now, he wanted to shoot that fucking drummer.

***

Betts sat down hard on the sofa. After seventeen years, Gabe’s pheromones still turned her hormones into raging lust monsters. A piece of sheet music floated to the ground, and she bent over to pick it up. This was proof positive that people didn’t control their hormones. Clearly, estrogen and testosterone were agents of doom turning perfectly sane people into complete lunatics.

Rodeo studs, movie stars, red-hot roadies…not to mention some of the hunkiest fans in the world, had all snuck in a kiss and a proposition, but not a one had lit her fire. No. Her fire roared only for Gabe.

Betts rested her head against the back of the sofa, turned her cheek into the soft chenille throw that smelled like Rose Milk. She ran her fingers over her guitar’s shiny surface, trying to let go of the tension.

Tonight, Gabe had been more than fair. She hadn’t expected fair. Raising a baby alone seemed to have forced him to grow up. The Gabe she’d known would have tried to charm her into doing exactly what he wanted and then yelled when he didn’t get his way, but this new Gabe wasn’t that predictable. He was cagey and even-tempered and rational. She’d need to be on her toes around him.

It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask exactly what were the terms of Tom’s original adoption, but Gabe didn’t seem inclined to believe that she had no idea where or with whom Tom had been placed. Betts massaged the tense muscles at the back of her neck. All those years ago, she should have asked more questions, but in truth, she hadn’t wanted to know the details. To make it through those terrible minutes, then hours, then days after his birth, she’d needed to cling to the fantasy of his perfect, loving home. All too soon, she’d find out the truth, but for now, she’d hide a bit longer in the fantasy.

“Betts, Betts, we want Betts,” the cheer droned from outside Gigi’s front window.

She sat up and glanced out at the once-pristine front lawn that was now littered with people, lawn chairs, and several barbeque grills. Occasionally a brave gawker worked up the courage to knock on her door, but mostly they chanted and waited for her to show herself. Her life was nothing more than a tailgate party. If only she could hide away or be someone else right now. What she wouldn’t give to be plain old Betts Dittmeyer for just a week.

Her right hip buzzed. Betts pulled out her iPhone.

Is my single ready? Last two songs finished?

The text was from her agent. Honey had given up calling and gone right to texting. Next she’d show up on Betts’s doorstep for an I-was-just-in-the-neighborhood-and-wanted-to-see-how-things-were-coming-along visit.

“It’s not my fault.” Betts said to the empty room and pointed to her guitar. “I was working on it when my past came to call.”

When My Past Came to Call
was a great title for a song. Words spilled into her brain, snippets at first then full sentences. Betts picked up a pencil and some blank sheet music and wrote down every word. After the onslaught was over, she relaxed back in the chair and closed her eyes. When songs came that fast, her head felt like it had been through the spin cycle.

A knock sounded at the door.

Betts let out a long, slow breath. Was it Gabe back for round two? Betts rolled her eyes.

What were the chances he’d give up and go away?

The doorbell bonged.

Zero.

It was full dark out, and according to her watch, it was almost eight o’clock. Couldn’t mourners keep bankers’ hours? While her loss wasn’t that much of a loss, couldn’t they leave her alone?

She sighed and rolled off the couch. The doorbell bonged again. As she yanked open the door and plastered on her fake smile, she bent down and picked up a wooden spoon from her stash of goodies by the door to use as either a gift or a weapon.

A tall, lanky, red-haired boy with a straw cowboy hat in his hands shuffled from foot to foot. “Ms. Monroe, you don’t know me, but I wanted to pay my respects.” He smiled. “Your grandma was real nice to me.”

“You’d be the first. Excuse me.” Betts stepped around him, smiled to the crowd, and tossed them the wooden spoon.

“Oh, yes, ma’am, Ms. Gigi could be fussy at times, but she always treated me kindly.”

Bodies dove at the spoon like it was a free engagement ring in a room full of bridezillas.

The boy turned to watch the spectacle. “Dang, I’ve never seen old Mr. Linley move so fast. He could barely walk before his last hip replacement.”

The boy nodded his approval. He looked slightly familiar, like a watered-down version of someone she knew but couldn’t place.