Read Online Billy Bob Walker Got Married by Lisa G. Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa G. Brown
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wave of anger and light perfume, Laura asked nobody in general, "Wonder if I should have mentioned who was with the judge?"
His elegant wife, Lydia. That was who stood by the side of Robert Sewell. Always dainty. always fashionable, she looked undersized and overdressed as she stood by the big, broad-shouldered judge in his subdued navy suit. Only two things gave away his lurking vanity—the carefully waved, lacquered hair and the diamond ring that sparkled on his right hand in the light of a nearby lamp.
Shiloh did what she always did when she was scared senseless: She talked to herself. Be calm, she said; act natural. So you won't marry his son. They can't make you, no matter how cold their eves. She met her father's warning look as he turned from his conversation with the couple.
"Judge Sewell," she said steadily. Good, she thought, that's it—calm, unruffled. "And Mrs. Sewell."
A movement in the flame-stitched wingback chair that faced away from her caught her peripheral vision. It stopped Shiloh's words like a hand around her heart; she knew intuitively who it was even before the gilt-blond head rose.
"Hello, Shiloh."
Michael's words were as calm as hers, his face emotionless as he turned to face her. He was dressed for the evening, too, in his own well-cut navy suit, crisp white shirt, and striped tie. He looked like a Bill Blass version of a young blond sun god.
She couldn't speak, that clutch of emotions still strangling her. She could see the two of them on the carpet again, right here, nearly where he stood now.
Him, ripping and tearing and hurting.
Her, shivering and begging and crying.
"I like your dress. It suits you," he said at last into the silence. His voice was low, husky, and for one crazy minute, Shiloh saw Billy Bob Walker standing there. His face had worn the same intense look that Michael's had now.
She got her breath all at once, in a rush that nearly floored her. "It's good to see you. But I have to run. I have a—a date tonight."
"Shiloh!" Sam's voice was disbelieving and hard. "I asked you to be home for supper. You agreed. So even if you have made other plans'"—and his voice said clearly he didn't believe a word of it—"you can just unmake them."
"Look, I'm not going to be civilized about this," she told him desperately. "Everybody here already knows I broke the engagement with Michael. So either he leaves, or I do."
Her father's gasped outrage was only slightly louder than Lydia Sewell's.
"I mean it," she said stubbornly.
"Let me talk to her, sir," Michael asked pleadingly. "She's got to listen to me sometime. She's got to explain to me why—"
"No," she cut in, panicky that they might really leave her with him. "And if you don't stay away from me, I'll tell them right now what happened between us."
His white teeth flashed in a sort of pleading half smile. "Shiloh, please, listen. I love you."
"You will listen to him, Shiloh," Sam said firmly.
"Just like I will many him? I don't have to do anything if I don't want to. And I want to leave." Never in a million years could she have imagined talking like this to Sam, but fear forced her to it. She twisted away, out the door and down the hall. Heavy footsteps sounded behind her; she knew them even before Michael's hand clamped over her shoulder and the same terror that had loosened her tongue poured down her body like a cold drench of water.
She jerked frantically away as he pulled her around. "Don't touch me!"
Michael's eves burned like blue fire as he stared down at her, but Sam's voice over his shoulder cut off any words he intended to speak.
"You're not going anywhere, Shiloh. You and Michael need to sit down and talk about this."
Shiloh looked from Michael's set face to her father's, then she reached behind herself and flung open the door.
Sam swore. "Dammit, girl, what's got into you? Whatever it is. if you take out of here in that hell-on-wheels car you drive, I'll put T-Tommy on you. He'll get you back even if he
His elegant wife, Lydia. That was who stood by the side of Robert Sewell. Always dainty. always fashionable, she looked undersized and overdressed as she stood by the big, broad-shouldered judge in his subdued navy suit. Only two things gave away his lurking vanity—the carefully waved, lacquered hair and the diamond ring that sparkled on his right hand in the light of a nearby lamp.
Shiloh did what she always did when she was scared senseless: She talked to herself. Be calm, she said; act natural. So you won't marry his son. They can't make you, no matter how cold their eves. She met her father's warning look as he turned from his conversation with the couple.
"Judge Sewell," she said steadily. Good, she thought, that's it—calm, unruffled. "And Mrs. Sewell."
A movement in the flame-stitched wingback chair that faced away from her caught her peripheral vision. It stopped Shiloh's words like a hand around her heart; she knew intuitively who it was even before the gilt-blond head rose.
"Hello, Shiloh."
Michael's words were as calm as hers, his face emotionless as he turned to face her. He was dressed for the evening, too, in his own well-cut navy suit, crisp white shirt, and striped tie. He looked like a Bill Blass version of a young blond sun god.
She couldn't speak, that clutch of emotions still strangling her. She could see the two of them on the carpet again, right here, nearly where he stood now.
Him, ripping and tearing and hurting.
Her, shivering and begging and crying.
"I like your dress. It suits you," he said at last into the silence. His voice was low, husky, and for one crazy minute, Shiloh saw Billy Bob Walker standing there. His face had worn the same intense look that Michael's had now.
She got her breath all at once, in a rush that nearly floored her. "It's good to see you. But I have to run. I have a—a date tonight."
"Shiloh!" Sam's voice was disbelieving and hard. "I asked you to be home for supper. You agreed. So even if you have made other plans'"—and his voice said clearly he didn't believe a word of it—"you can just unmake them."
"Look, I'm not going to be civilized about this," she told him desperately. "Everybody here already knows I broke the engagement with Michael. So either he leaves, or I do."
Her father's gasped outrage was only slightly louder than Lydia Sewell's.
"I mean it," she said stubbornly.
"Let me talk to her, sir," Michael asked pleadingly. "She's got to listen to me sometime. She's got to explain to me why—"
"No," she cut in, panicky that they might really leave her with him. "And if you don't stay away from me, I'll tell them right now what happened between us."
His white teeth flashed in a sort of pleading half smile. "Shiloh, please, listen. I love you."
"You will listen to him, Shiloh," Sam said firmly.
"Just like I will many him? I don't have to do anything if I don't want to. And I want to leave." Never in a million years could she have imagined talking like this to Sam, but fear forced her to it. She twisted away, out the door and down the hall. Heavy footsteps sounded behind her; she knew them even before Michael's hand clamped over her shoulder and the same terror that had loosened her tongue poured down her body like a cold drench of water.
She jerked frantically away as he pulled her around. "Don't touch me!"
Michael's eves burned like blue fire as he stared down at her, but Sam's voice over his shoulder cut off any words he intended to speak.
"You're not going anywhere, Shiloh. You and Michael need to sit down and talk about this."
Shiloh looked from Michael's set face to her father's, then she reached behind herself and flung open the door.
Sam swore. "Dammit, girl, what's got into you? Whatever it is. if you take out of here in that hell-on-wheels car you drive, I'll put T-Tommy on you. He'll get you back even if he
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