Victory Jones

CHAPTER ONE

About to snatch up his mink brown Stetson and head for the back door, Brody began the process of shutting off lights, coffee pot and clearing out the evidence of his twenty-four hour residence.

Damned if he’d do this again! Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s what he'd said every time, yet, he always allowed himself to get pulled in- just one more time. Well, not anymore. Finito! From now on Blade could take care of his own business- all of it, and he didn’t care if it was a showcase stunt or a bullshit appearance, like this one was supposed to be. He was through! Done! Kaput!

Even if Blade was seven minutes and twenty-two seconds older than he was, he was not his personal manager! Identical twins were supposed to grow up sometimes. It wasn’t like they were still in college, swapping girls, classes, and shirts. Come to think of it, it hadn’t been all that funny then, either, since it’d always been Blade lining the stage and Blade calling the shots- to Blade’s benefit, of course. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, not every single, solitary time.

Striding through Blade’s sprawling ranch house, he double checked, stopping in front of his brother’s walk-in closet. This was the height of insanity. Both, he and Blade had separate careers, requiring opposite dress codes, yet, they each kept double wardrobes, just in case they had to do a ‘doubles switch’.

With a half grin, he fought down the urge to laugh outright. Blade hated ties, dress suits, and any semblance of formal wear. But like a regular Boy Scout, he’d even gone to court in his steed a few times to deliver his opening statements when he’d been in bed with Flu or bleary-eyed and hung way, way over- usually after a night out with him! At least he always kept his word. For Blade, paybacks were always hell to pay. And though, he’d always grumbled about it, he did pay for the play. Even when it was stupid, a nonsensical waste of time- like this.

When the patio doorbell made its peculiar squealing noise, he slammed the closet door shut, cursing beneath his breath. When was he going to fix the damned thing? Doorbells shouldn't scare the hell out of you. It was downright eerie,.. like his brother had been, lately.

Turning, he glanced at his wristwatch and cursed, again, this time, low but audible. It was two minutes after seven in the evening. The insurance rep was lucky as hell. If he’d been another few minutes, he’d have been shit out of luck!

Two steps into the hall, he could see the feet just outside the patio’s sliding doors. And- it wasn’t a he. Not unless he liked wearing four-inch wedged heels with tiny little pink strings wrapped around his shapely calves.. and tied beneath his cute little knees.

Just about to round the kitchen’s breakfast bar, he could view from the shoes upward- now. He saw a pink, cotton peasant skirt, leather string belt tied around a tiny, female waist. Higher- a white lacy blouse covered a small frame with enough fullness in the bust to make the rest of her real interesting. And then, almost at the door, he caught a glimpse of- the rest of the way up.

It’s a thousand wonders he didn’t stumble over his left boot and tumble all the way to the door, landing in a clumsy six-foot-three, heap just inside, inches from her own delicate little feet.

In an instant, the years flew backward.. eleven years, to be exact. He and Blade had been seventeen when their elder brother, Jake, had married Jolee. And they’d both had the worst case of the hots for her ever since. And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that she’d taken Nashville like a South Texas whirlwind, topping the charts to become one of the nation’s leading CW stars in the years that followed.

It was Jolee, herself. She was just about as drop dead gorgeous as God ever made a woman. So much, so that he and Blade had measured every woman they'd met on the Jolee point system. So far- some had come close, but no winners, until, maybe.. now.

With a mental shake, he slid the glass patio door open.

Mister Bladen O’Bryan? She inquired with a very perplexed frown on her pretty lips, while she redistributed her briefcase to her left hand.

With a mute nod, he took her extended hand, holding it longer than he should’ve. Blade was never going to believe this!

I’m Tory Jones, your Mutual Insurance Agent. Sorry, I’m so late. First, I had a flat tire. I just never thought there’d be so many miles of dirt road, and then- there was this other client with nothing but cattle guards and a rocky driveway. And- she rambled, pausing for breath, ..my donut was flat, too, so I had to wait on the side of the road for hours. Do you know your neighbors, or.. a better question is- do you have any neighbors?

Tory knew she was babbling and the man standing looking down at her had that dazed look in his hazel eyes. After Murphy’s Law had beaten her to a crisp every step of the way, the last thing she expected now, was to have to explain to the best-looking man she’d ever seen, outside the movies, of course- why she was acting like a wacky, wide-eyed schoolgirl with a starry-eyed, falling in love, at first sight, crush.

Uh,.. a few. Neighbors, that is.

Mister O’Bryan? Checking the papers stacked on topside of her briefcase, she appeared slightly unfocused."

Finally, his tongue began to work, Yeah, Sorry for staring. You remind me of someone I know. Guess it’s the colors. Brilliant, for a practicing attorney, he was doing excellent, so far - colors?"

When she smiled, showing perfect, pearly teeth beneath full, sensual lips, he lost his ability to swallow. Her mouth had that been kissed all night, swollen, look- her voice, low, and sweetly delivered. It was her eyes that gut-punched him. They were so dark, a man could drown in their mystifying depths without even the desire to back paddle and save himself.

With long fanning eyelashes so thick and black they’d appear false on anyone else, hers, just naturally fit in with the rest of her, along with her perfectly arched dark eyebrows. Man! She was flawless- with a small, straight nose, silken creamy skin- that nearly radiated sunshine, health, ..and soft sensuality. The high point that really topped her off was a head full of thick curling locks that flowed, gypsy-wild, midway down to her waist.

With lightning speed, he entertained the thought that he might have conjured her up through his imagination, from sheer boredom or.. how about plain lunacy?

About to reach out and touch, to see if she was real, she moved, impatiently.. or probably self-consciously beneath his silent, intense scrutiny. The urge died along with his disbelief. It was her hair,.. mostly. She had it semi- restrained right now with a pearly hair clasp just behind her crown of riotous gold mixed, burgundy curls.

Her smile widened, Well, there’s an old saying- everyone has a mirror image somewhere.

With a mental shake, he grinned, Trust me. He glanced down at her left ring-less finger, ..Miss Jones, I really do have a mirror image. And I don’t have a clue where’s he is right now.

You also have a wrecked Chevy Silverado Extended Cab truck. I believe we can come to a mutually satisfying agreement, Mister O’Bryan. We‘ll have you in another vehicle with as little inconvenience as possible. We keep a wide variety of 'loaners' available for our clients. You'll be mobile as soon as we get the paperwork done and approved by the district office.

The idea had merit. It’d be a real kicker if Blade got stuck with a Volkswagen Beetle- yellow, with daisies on the doors, instead of his signature black battle machines.

I don't think that'll be necessary, he murmured absently before steadying himself with a deep breath, Uh.. yeah, want to see the truck,.. or start on the paperwork first?

Your policy covers it. Now, she related with proficiency, I believe I have all the paperwork. The office received the photos last week. Let’s see-

Moving aside, he invited her in with a wave of his open palm. You might as well get comfortable, it’s hot as Hades outside.

Without looking up, she stepped inside the den while she thumbed through her paperwork, noting every blank had been filled in appropriately.

How about something cool to drink? He itemized, standing in front of the stainless steel refrigerator door, There’s Coke, Gatorade, beer, iced tea, milk, juice, and… uh, a big bottle of Black Jack.

Water would be nice she responded low, glancing up in time to watch him reach behind a milk jug, pulling out two unopened bottles of spring water.

After politely accepting her water, she sat it aside and returned to the business at hand while he continued to search for errors. She couldn’t be a ’ten’, she just couldn’t. Hell, even ten wasn’t high enough. They’d set the standard too low. Little Miss Tory Jones had just blown their eleven-year-old standard of perfection chart right out of the water!

This couldn’t be happening now. Not when he was already in a relationship, about to get ready to think about making it a long term one, maybe even a walk down the aisle. Savannah Whitley was about as close as he’d come to a match for himself… and at nearly twenty-eight, he was about to get ready to think about settling down. Wasn’t he? Well, Savannah wouldn’t wait much longer. And- together, he and Savannah were a hundred percent compatible. A bird in the hand,.. and all that. He’d never been a gambler. That was Blade.

When his left jean pocket began to vibrate violently, his first thought brought red-faced guilt, thinking it was a pure physical response to what his mind was thinking. Thankfully, his trained reasoning broke through his foggy mindset. Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he grimaced. Yeah, Denise. After a few seconds, he responded low, Give me a couple minutes. I'll need to call you back.

"Sorry. I have to take this in uh..my office. It's business.

Tory looked up from her shuffle of paperwork with a ready smile, Of course. Take your time....With your Denise. Business- right! She should have known he wasn't available. Oh well, he was still nice.

Hurriedly, he stalked into Blade's small office and quietly closed the door. Denise, his secretary, wouldn't be calling his cell unless it were necessary. Overly protective of his client-privilege relationship, he never discussed a case on an unsecured line, especially not when the client was snatching at the phone, ranting and raving in fast, frenzied Spanish.

Of their own volition, Tory's curious eyes did a slow, wandering gaze. His house, what she could see of it, was.. nice, well kept, comfortable, not exactly what she would've expected for a bachelor's pad. Good gravy, her imagination was at it, again. Not every unmarried man preferred a Hugh Hefner décor!

It was the abundance of framed photographs that drew her attention. Placed strategically, around and about the room, she noted the larger, wall frames, as well. She knew class. These weren't 'over the counter' mass produced frames but individually and custom designed for each particular photograph...as if, with careful thought, he'd chosen each, himself.

Glancing at her wristwatch, she noted he'd only been out of sight a few minutes. If his business call had been such that it had warranted a smooth, scampering exit, he could be tied up awhile. Placing her paperwork neatly on the sofa, she rose and very quietly stepped across the wide room.

Since the first beautifully polished frame held the laughing portrait of a lovely young woman, it was the first she viewed- close up. Denise? Quickly, she trailed around the room, studying each showcased image. Or, as it turned out- images. In the nearly dozen or so shots, the same young woman either sat or stood with her arm or hand linked to another subject...and the resemblance between them was uncanny...

Ahh- Why hadn't she thought of that? Most people did have families...just not her. Hurriedly, she glanced at the remaining 'family' images before focusing on the last wall frame, which was an enlarged photo taken of Blade O'Bryan standing on the steps of Austin's State Capital Building,.. with the governor's arm draped across his right shoulder...in 'buddy' fashion.

Now, why did that surprise her? Dressed as he was today, in Levis and Western shirt, she'd stereotyped him as just another cowboy, albeit, an exceptionally good-looking, well-mannered one... that he probably was. But...in an expensive, tailored suit, with the governor by his side, it was obvious, he mixed in well with the elite and prestigious, something she could never do. Didn't want to. Wouldn't if she could!

The quiet signaling sound of a closing door sent her scrambling back to her vacated spot on the sofa. Snatching up her neat, paper-filled folder, she crossed her ankles, as before, and waited.

Rounding the corner, she noted that he wore an almost guilty grin. I apologize, again for the interruption. Now, where were we?

Oh, it's quite all right. I needed a few minutes to unwind, anyway. It's been a rather hectic day.

Well, I'm sorry for that, too. How can I make it better for you? This time, he gave her his best smile- the dazzler. It never failed with the female clerks, interns, and associate woman colleagues he dealt with on a daily basis, in court and Congress.

Tory laughed outright. What a charmer! For starters, Mister O'Bryan, you can examine our claim settlement contract before you sign it. You'll see that we, at Mutual Insurance have complied with the full amount of your stipulated coverage. I'm sure you'll be pleased with your replacement amount since its very near blue book value.

After he'd affixed Bladen O’Bryan’s signature to the insurance paperwork, she retrieved the papers and placed everything in a folder, securing it neatly in her briefcase. There was nothing to do now, except watch her walk away. Unless he wanted to pull one of Blade’s tricks and hog tie her... Nope, they couldn‘t do things like that, anymore. He was a lawyer, for God’s sake. And a state congressman and Blade was...still Blade.

Glancing at her plain little wrist-watch, she exclaimed, Oh my, it’s later than I thought. I have more appointments tomorrow in this area. Does Maxwell, Texas have a motel, a Bed and Breakfast? Or anything that accommodates travelers?

"Fraid not. But that is the nearest point to civilization, and it's nearly twenty miles south. There's junction a few miles down the blacktop, turn right and another twenty miles east, you'll be in the New Braunfels area, and then, there's San Marcos a little further. Either way, it's a good little drive... on back roads all the way.

Unbelievable! It didn't seem so far from Austin when I left this morning. Usually, my clients are closer into the suburbs- West Austin.

Sorry. ...You're stuck in ranch country, now. Either way you go, finding a night's lodging could be hard picking since it's county fair season in most of the small towns around here. Every one will have a rodeo. So, the motels will most likely be filled. Rodeo contestants and their fans like to hit 'em all, one at a time, so the tourist traffic, even in small towns gets a full run. I don't expect you'll find any vacancies, anywhere around, except for the five-star suites.

When she appeared crestfallen, he asked, Are you on an expense account, Miss Jones?

She nodded her head, Which means I get business class with a discount. The company won’t pay if the room’s over the limited amount.

Curiously, he asked, What’s your budget, then?

I’m almost embarrassed to tell you, she grinned. I can pay up to eighty-two dollars a night, but that includes meals, or else the company won’t reimburse me.

Holding out her hand, she gave his a firm shake and headed for the patio door, briefcase in hand.

Thanks for the refreshment. And, she said almost guiltily, For letting me vent. But, if I’m going to find a hotel tonight, I’ll need to start looking. I’ll be in touch so we can line out that loaner until the home office sends your final claim check.

Turning slightly, she took a fleeting glance at the tall, good looking rancher, Thanks for being so cordial, and, again, I apologize for being so late.

Don't be. It was worth the wait. I enjoyed your visit. We didn't have to haggle over the claim so, I'm satisfied.

He walked her out to her car, opened the door for her and watched her slide inside, beneath the steering wheel. When she turned the ignition key, nothing happened. Closing her eyes, he couldn’t tell if she was praying, threatening, or cussing, whatever, it had no effect as the engine never made an accommodating sound.

Let me check, under the hood, maybe you just have a loose connection, he stated with new purpose in mind. Nope, her battery cables were clean and tightly connected. I could give you a jump, but your battery’s almost new, so, I’m thinking you wouldn’t get very far, using your headlights. Looks like your alternator’s out if that’s the case, the headlights will just drain your battery before you get a mile. And then, you’ll be stuck on the side of the road, again.

Good grief! Will this day never end? Doesn’t matter, tomorrow’s going to be a repeat performance of today. Worse, probably.

Miss Jones,.. Tory, the way I see it, I’m either stuck with you or you’re stuck with me. When she raised her eyebrows, he hurried through his opening statements, I’m either going to be honor bound to take you all the way back to Austin, find a parts place open, which isn’t going to be easy at this time of evening,.. Or I can put you up for the night until we can take care of your car problems in the morning.

Tory was nearly speechless at his shocking generosity. I thank you for your concern, Mister O'Bryan, but I'm afraid it would be inappropriate for me to stay here with you.

"From where I come from, inappropriate is leaving any lady alone on the side of a dark road all night. She looked skeptical but not quite as properly indignant as before. There are four spare bedrooms here; each has its own bath, and they're all vacant at the moment. Tell you what, I can loan you one for the night. Matter of fact, I’d enjoy the company.

He watched a warm flush flood her cheeks.

Mister O’Bryan.., she took a deep breath and re-asserted, I appreciate the offer. I do, but for all your nice talk, you could be a notorious axe killer, and even if you are a regular choir boy,..if my company found out I'd stayed in a client's home, I’d probably be reprimanded for unprofessional conduct.

He didn't even hesitate jumping into plan b. Yeah, I can see your point, but I still can't let you leave, knowing your headlights are going to suck all the juice out of your battery about two miles down the road and leave you stranded. He gave her a few seconds to think it over. Tory, you're a nice lady and... I don't mind giving you a ride home, but that still puts you out of transportation until you deal with your dead little car... that’s going to be sitting here, anyway.

Stark realization struck. He was right. Suzie Q's battery wouldn't hold enough charge to get her back to Austin, not tonight, using the headlights. But it would, tomorrow if she could start it and run it long enough to build the battery backup. Oh, why couldn't it be Friday, already... and she didn't have to work tomorrow? She couldn't miss her appointments.

He could see her physically wilting before his eyes. Damn... he hated using defeatism on her. But his conscience didn't relish the thought that, though he'd played it up some, in fact- allowing her to place herself in danger on some backwoods road was still unacceptable. And- the fact that she obviously didn't have a standby hero... or anyone else to call for aid, somehow bothered him.

How about- if I rented you a room for the night, plus dinner and breakfast for exactly eighty-two dollars. I can even write you up a receipt for it. That way you’ll get your money back.

When she appeared to speculate on his unorthodox invitation and hesitated just a second, he took charge, like the attorney he was. Do you have a house phone, Tory?

When she nodded, he asked, An answering machine?

Of course.

Sliding his cell phone from his jean pocket, he extracted her business card from his wallet, glancing at it. Is this your home phone? After she nodded, curiously, he punched in the numbers, holding it out so she could hear her own voice, speaking on her house answering machine.

After the beep, he spoke into the receiver. This is Bladen O’Bryan. Miss Tory Jones has rented a suite at my ranch for the night. After giving the date and time, he continued, ...if she doesn’t arrive safely home, I’d be your number one person of interest. You can reach me at the Bladen O’Bryan ranch, or call the number on your machine.

With Tory’s mouth open in sheer surprise, he checked her business card, again, punched in her office number, gave her extension and waited until her message machine beeped, leaving the exact same message he’d left on her home phone.

Now, you’ve got me beneath a rock and a hard place. If you leave tonight, limping along on the back roads and your tire blows again, or the battery dies, you’ll be stuck. And if you get rattlesnake bitten, walking on the dirt road in the dark, or... worse case scenario, fall and break your neck, they’re gonna come looking for Bladen O’Bryan, all the same.

Thinking, damn- he was good at this, he added smoothly, You know, there’s little traffic out here, and I can’t vouch for whatever comes along, so you’ll want to give it some thought before you decide. You're welcome to spend the night here, he added, ...in my sister’s room. It’s got WiFi, HD television, phone service, its own bath, and a foolproof lock- the kind that locks from the inside, no key entrance. Plus... he added with a lop-sided grin, dimpling one dark cheek, ...I’m a pretty good cook.

He could see she was tempted and encouraged just enough, Aw, c’mon if my company bores you, there’s a whole assortment of chic flicks in Molly’s room.

There was a short, reflective pause before she countered. Only if you allow me to pay the agreed rental… and help with the cooking and clean-up.

Reaching out his right hand, he grinned, Done.

He retrieved her small suitcase from her car while she was tossing their salads. Placing the case in his sister's room, he hurried back, in time to turn the Rib Eye steaks over and check on their baked potatoes. He really wasn't much of a cook- that was Blade. So, it wasn’t fancy, but it was quick, tasty, and filling.

Conversation between them flowed as smoothly as using first names although he nearly winced each time she called him Bladen. Towards the end of the meal, he realized he had enjoyed her company. She was witty, smart and had an open mind. He liked her.

Just after stacking the dishes in the dishwasher, Tory stifled another yawn and Brody responded to it. Tory, it's been a long day. You must be exhausted.

I’ve been up since four this morning but with all the pit stops, it seems like longer.

If you’re ready to turn in for the night, go ahead. Don't feel as if you need to entertain me. I've enjoyed our evening, but I'll rest better knowing you're comfortable and safe. In the morning, I'll jump-start your car and have you going, again.

I think I'll do that. Tomorrow's coming too fast, Bladen.

Uh, most of my friends call me Blade. So, what time do you need to get up in the morning?

Gathering her briefcase, handbag, and various papers, she fought down another yawn. "Oh, I have an alarm. Opening her purse, she counted out exactly eighty-two dollars.

I’ll write you out a receipt in the morning so you can turn it in on your expense account.

That'll work. G’night... and Blade, when he turned toward her, she smiled sleepily, ...I appreciate your hospitality. There aren’t many who’d put up a complete stranger.

It’s been my pleasure, Tory. Now, get to bed while your eyes are still open.

After he heard the soft click of the door lock, he frowned. She was so wrong. There were too many in this isolated part of Texas who’d take in a perfect stranger ..If she looked anything like Tory Jones. And take her, they would, willing or not

The sound of spraying water woke him just before five o’clock. By the time she was showered and dressed, had her suitcase, briefcase, handbag, and cell phone all gathered, he had a breakfast buffet laid out on the kitchen counter. In a whirlwind of smiles, she nibbled on a mouthful of each dish, downed a glass of OJ and headed for the patio door while he carried out her suitcase.

After charging her battery, the engine groaned a few times and started up.

After another round of thanks and goodbye, she seated herself, behind the wheel of her twenty year plus Ford, only to find that when she began to reverse out of the driveway, the car’s engine stalled and died, again.

Turning the key, she tried multiple times but nothing happened. After a few more tries, he opened the door. She hopped out and allowed him to see for himself. Maybe he knew something she didn't about starting a very sick ignition. While he mimicked her exact moves until the battery ran down. Again, she paced beside the car, glancing impatiently at her wristwatch.

Geeze, unless Susie Q cooperates, I’ll never make District Manager!

You're up for promotion? he asked with his head beneath the hood, checking wiring.

I'm hopeful. The present one’s retiring and I have a good shot if I don’t mess up.

Sticking his head back out, he slammed the hood. How many appointments do you have today?

Taking a breath, she answered, Five. Two this morning and three later this afternoon.

Well, I’m not a mechanic, Tory, but looks like your battery's dead, again. I can jump you off, but I can’t guarantee it’s going to make it out of the drive. Even if it does, the first time you kill the engine. It won’t start, again.

Slapping her forehead with her palm, she exclaimed, Good grief! That’s all I need! Turning to her old Ford, she threatened, Suzy Q, I could just kick you!"

Stepping to the garage, only a few yards away, he keyed in the security code, waited for the door to open, rummaged through the back of a bottom drawer and pulled out a set of keys.

Here, take the Escalade for the day. It’ll get you where you need to be with time to spare. When you’re done. Bring it back. With any luck, your car will be running by the time you get back.

For a few moments, she stood, silently staring at the shiny, newly waxed Black Escalade, before whispering tearfully, I can’t. You’ve already done so much; I just can’t accept anymore…

Sure you can, Tory. And, by the way, you won’t get lost, either. He explained the GPS system to her. Just speak your destination address clearly and it’ll guide you anywhere you want to go. While she stood, frozen to the spot, he was already placing her briefcase and handbag into the Cadillac's passenger seat.

When he stepped aside, she jumped forward, hugging him quickly, Thank you, Blade. You’re an angel. I’ll be back around five-ish. You have my cell number if you need to get in touch with me before then. In less than two minutes, she’d backed the Escalade out of the garage and was headed slowly down Blade's ranch road.

CHAPTER TWO

It was just after lunch when Brody heard the sound of his own pickup pull into Blade’s gravel drive. He should've left already but just couldn't bring himself to miss the crowing part. He'd won the eleven-year-old competition. Now, the real fun was about to begin.

One look at his twin’s face