Chapter 2

2

Stasia rang the doorbell at Odalie’s apartment just after breakfast on Friday. Odalie almost ran to open it, then laughed as they hugged.

“Thanks for bringing her, Ben,” Odalie told him warmly.

“No sweat. I’ll be back to pick you up about three. Boss doesn’t like traffic snarls, so he leaves early when we go up to the house,” Ben explained to her.

“He hates traffic,” Stasia agreed. “But then, so do I. Thanks, Ben.”

He shrugged. “See you later.”

He put the two suitcases Stasia had brought in the living room and left.

“He’s so nice,” Odalie said. “I wish we could say that about his boss,” she added with a venomous smile.

“Stop that,” Stasia teased.

“Sorry.” She studied her sister-in-law. “You’re not even showing yet,” she teased.

“You should see me try to fasten a skirt or a pair of pants” came the reply, and Stasia pulled up her sweater to show that her pants had the top button undone.

“Well, you’re showing a little,” she conceded. “Come on in. Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes, at the ranch, but I’d love coffee.”

“I have decaf—it’s okay,” Odalie laughed when she noted the other woman’s expression.

“Sorry. I’m still not used to things I shouldn’t have,” Stasia said.

“Dad says Mom drank a pot a day until she was pregnant with Tanner, and that the sudden stop almost killed her. They both still laugh about it—while they’re chugging cappuccino.”

Stasia laughed. “I love being around your family. I’m sort of short on relatives.”

Odalie hugged her. “You have all of us. We’re your family now.”

Stasia fought tears.

“You stop that, or I’ll start bawling, too.” She shook her head as she made coffee. “Imagine, being stranded on Long Island all weekend with a barracuda, and all because I adore you and I’d do anything for you,” she added with a meaningful glare.

“Tony’s sweet.”

“Like sauerkraut,” Odalie agreed.

“Women love him,” Stasia pointed out. “He’s handsome, he’s rich, he loves animals...”

“He kills people,” Odalie continued.

“No, he doesn’t,” Stasia replied, chuckling. “Well, there were some rumors about him in the past. But he certainly doesn’t do wet work now. He has the art gallery.”

“Wet work?” Odalie asked, all at sea.

“When you live with an ex-mercenary, it rubs off,” she confessed with a grin. “Wet work. Blood...?”

“Oh! Like in that book about ‘painting houses,’ that’s really about killing people,” Odalie replied and then bit her tongue, because she’d never meant to admit she wanted to know what Tony’s former lifestyle had really been like.

But Stasia didn’t say a word. She changed the subject to clothes instead.

“I’ve got this exquisite new dress,” Odalie said, showing it to her. “It’s a couture piece, but I fell in love with it, so there goes my allowance for the next three months.” She sighed as she studied the gorgeous hand-painted sheath dress with its pink and silver and purple glittery highlights.

“It really is lovely. It will suit you,” Stasia said. “I’ve got a new one, too, a black flare skirt with a glittery black-and-gold overlay and a draped bodice. Spent my allowance going forward on that, so I know what you mean!” she laughed. “Clothes are my weakness.”

“For at least one more month,” Odalie teased, nodding at her belly.

“Oh, they have couture for pregnant women, too” came the laughing reply. “I can still be at the forefront of fashion despite my lovely condition. Not that I love clothes more than your brother,” she had to add. She sighed. “Dreams come true, you know?”

“For some people,” Odalie agreed.

“You sing beautifully,” her companion replied solemnly. “And you will sing at the Met one day. I’ve never doubted that. But you have to get over this stage fright and do the audition!”

“So my music teacher keeps saying,” Odalie said.

“You’ve sung onstage in young artists’ venues, you used to sing every Sunday in church—what’s the difference?” her friend asked.

“Because this is going onstage and singing for professional people. I’m scared to death.”

“Tanner has this great book. It’s written by a former navy SEAL...”

“About how to do commando raids?” was the surprised reply.

“No. About how to use fear, instead of giving in to it. It’s not about how to kill people. It’s how to keep them from killing you in combat, if you get in a desperate situation. And I read it myself. It’s full of useful tips.”

“As if I’ll ever be in a desperate situation,” Odalie laughed.

“Well, it is a bit far-fetched. But it’s still good information, even if it’s never used for a life-and-death thing.”

“Okay. Send me a link and I’ll get a digital copy,” Odalie agreed.

“I’ll do that. You’ll be surprised at how interesting it is.”

Odalie sighed. “I guess I have been in one desperate situation, when I ran over Maddie.” She grimaced.

Stasia remembered the other woman’s agony after that tragic occurrence, when Odalie’s now-friend Maddie Lane Brannt had run into the road chasing her pet rooster and Odalie had accidentally hit her while driving Cort Brannt’s Jaguar. “You didn’t mean to, though,” Stasia pointed out. “And you stayed with her all through rehabilitation, paid all her medical bills and even got her a fantastic job making little fairy statues for collectors—including one for Tony’s art gallery. She’s incredibly rich now, even though the Brannts have that fabulous ranch, Skylance, right next to ours. She became rich when she married Cort Brannt.” She sighed. “He was a dish. Not a patch on Tanner, however.”

“Tanner really is gorgeous, even if he is my big brother,” Odalie had to agree. “And you’re forgetting that we shared the agony of thinking Tanner was dead when that James man tried to have him killed overseas.”

“It was a horror of a situation. For all of us.”

“That book on controlling fear would have come in very handy back then.”

“Oh, would it!” Stasia sighed. “Well, let’s get you packed for the weekend. My bags are ready,” she teased, indicating them by the door in the living room, where Ben had left them.

“Let’s see, I have a pair of jeans with no knees, and a black dress that covers me up from top to bottom...” Odalie began.

Stasia just looked at her.

She sighed. “Okay. I’ll pack some couture things and I’ll try very hard not to throw anything at your former boss.”

“Current boss,” Stasia teased. “I still work for him part-time, as long as I’m able. After the baby comes, I’ll be making fewer trips to New York.”

“I’ll be making more to Texas,” Odalie replied, beaming. “I’ll be an aunt for the first time. I can’t wait!”

“Neither can we. It’s like my own personal fairy tale, with even the happy ending!”

“I hope I’ll have one of those,” Odalie said, “but with the Met at the end, not a man.”

“Don’t you want to get married and have kids?” Stasia asked seriously.

Odalie looked worried. “Well, I do and I don’t.” She glanced at her friend. “I’ve worked so hard at training to sing opera that everything else has taken a back seat to it. I loved having Cort Brannt serenading me and bringing me flowers, but I never really felt anything physical for him. He was just a friend. I felt bad that he had feelings for me that I couldn’t return, but it just wasn’t there.”

“Like me with your poor younger brother, John,” Stasia said sadly. “I’ve never felt worse than when I saw his face after Tanner came home wounded and I was taking care of him.” She looked up. “John is a wonderful man. But I never felt that way about him. It’s sad when it turns out like that.”

“John is a survivor,” Odalie said gently. “He’s an Everett. He’ll get through it and one day he’ll find a woman who can love him back.” She hesitated. “Of course, she’ll need to love the smell of cow chips and the sight of cattle most all day, and conventions and auctions...”

They both laughed.

“If she loves him, she won’t mind,” Odalie added. “And maybe she’ll even like cattle!”

Ben came to pick them up at three on the dot. He carried the suitcases out to the trunk of Tony’s beautifully polished black stretch limo, and paused to open the back door to let the women get inside.

Odalie made sure that Stasia got in first so that she had to sit next to Tony, with Odalie on the outside by the other door.

Tony noticed that, and he started to ask her if she thought he had something contagious. But it wouldn’t do to start a war with poor Stasia in the middle, especially in her condition.

“How are you?” Tony asked with a smile. “You don’t even look pregnant!”

Stasia laughed. “You’d reconsider that remark if you could see me puking my guts out every morning and watch me go to bed with the chickens every night.” She shook her head. “It’s wonderful, but very incapacitating.”

“You still look great,” he said warmly. “How’s my fairy statue coming?” he added.

“Maddie’s putting on the last touches now,” she told him. “She said by the end of the month, hopefully. She’s puking her guts out and going to sleep with the chickens, too, you know,” she laughed.

He chuckled deeply. “Maybe it’s the water.”

“Excuse me?”

“Next-door neighbors both pregnant at the same time,” he explained.

“Oh!” She laughed. “Maybe it is. How’s business?”

“Great. If we can land this deal, even greater,” he said. He sighed. “Tom Bishop’s son, Bob, wants to trash his art collection. Not sell it, not loan it, trash it. The kid’s going to inherit about two billion dollars when his dad goes, and he said he hates the art because his dad spent more time adding to it than he ever spent with his kids. He blames his brother’s death on the paintings.”

“Why?” Stasia asked, aghast.

“Kid had appendicitis. Nobody was home except the kids because of an ice storm. Tom and his wife were stuck in town. Bob tried to call 911 but there had been a storm and all the phones were dead, and all the roads closed to traffic by ice. They live out in the boondocks in upstate Vermont.” He shook his head. “The kid died. Tom and his wife grieved, of course, and nobody blamed Bob. But Bob never got over it. He felt responsible, but he blamed his dad even more. They hardly speak. This is why we’ve got to get those paintings away from Tom while there’s time. He’s in his late seventies, and he’s got cancer. It’s under control, but nobody knows for how long.”

“That’s so sad. About the cancer, and the child. But those paintings, Tony. They’re like a history of Europe in oils!”

“I know,” he said heavily.

Odalie, who’d gone to college on a music scholarship, but minored in art history, was intrigued. “What sort of paintings?” she asked, wondering aloud.

“Art history minor,” Stasia told Tony, indicating Odalie.

He raised both eyebrows. He hadn’t known about her interest in art. “One of them is a Renoir,” he replied.

She whistled softly. “It would be a crime to throw away any art, but that should be a life sentence if he actually does it.”

“I agree,” he said, hating his interest in her. He didn’t want to appreciate how very lovely she was, or how smart. He averted his eyes back to Stasia. It took some effort, but none of it showed on his poker face. “You’ll have your work cut out to influence Tom,” he told Stasia. “He loves Bob. He doesn’t think his son’s serious about trashing the paintings. But with two billion in his pocket, their monetary value wouldn’t influence him.”

“There are people who don’t think art has any part in civilization,” Odalie said.

“That would be the same people who are tearing down statues and gluing themselves to frames in museums,” Stasia said, tongue-in-cheek.

Tony pursed his chiseled lips and his black eyes twinkled. “It would be interesting to see anybody try that in my gallery.”

“I get cold chills just thinking about it,” Stasia murmured without thinking.

“I don’t kill people,” he said indignantly.

“What? Oh!” Stasia burst out laughing. “I was thinking about the potential damage to the paintings, Tony.”

He grimaced. “Sorry.”

“I know you’re touchy about the old days, you old bear,” Stasia teased, smiling. “And you know me better than that.”

“Of course I do,” he said, relenting. He drew in a breath. “You never get away from the past, you know? It clings.”

Odalie thought that was probably true if you’d whacked half a dozen people, which Tony had been rumored to do in the past. But she just smiled angelically and didn’t say a word.

Tony saw that smile. It was more like a smirk. It bruised his ego. It shouldn’t have. Why should he care about the opinion of a rich girl from Texas, after all? He ignored it.

“Who’s coming this weekend?” Stasia asked.

It was an easy subject. He rattled off names, including one that he put some emphasis on. Burt Donalson.

“Oh, not him,” Stasia groaned.

“I had to invite him,” Tony protested. “He and Tom are best friends. He’s driving Tom down to the house.”

“We could have sent a car,” she said.

“Sure, and he’d have found an excuse not to come. It will be okay. I’ll put him out by the garage. Ben will keep an eye on him.”

“Is his poor wife coming, too?” Stasia asked.

“No. She probably has had enough of him pursuing any pretty face he can find.” He thought about Odalie’s pretty face as he processed the thought, and he had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

So did Stasia. She knew Burt from her time as a single woman. She’d finally had Tony have a word with him about being too forward. When Tony spoke, people listened. Burt was scared of him.

But Odalie was Burt’s sort of target, a beautiful high-class woman. Odalie could handle herself, but she shouldn’t be subjected to a predator like Burt for a whole weekend. Of course, it was possible that he’d pursue somebody else. Tony always had plenty of people staying at the estate when he went up there. It would be crowded. So, maybe there wouldn’t be trouble. She hoped so, especially when she’d had to coax Odalie into going with her.

The house on Long Island was a revelation to Odalie, who’d never seen it before. She caught her breath as it came into view past trees and a wrought iron fence with gates around the house proper.

“It’s gorgeous,” she exclaimed.

Tony almost ground his teeth. He’d wanted her to hate it, to live down to his opinion of her as an empty-headed rich girl.

“It’s huge,” Stasia said, noting that Tony didn’t say a word. “It has about a dozen bedrooms all with private baths. There’s an indoor heated Olympic swimming pool, a tennis court, a huge garage—Tony needs it for his classic cars,” she added with a wry glance at her boss.

“Like Dad has,” Odalie mused. “He has a 1960-something classic Jaguar convertible, the one with the teardrop-shaped headlights, that John keeps trying to sneak off the property. He’s dying to drive it. Dad keeps hiding the keys,” she added gleefully.

Tony gave in to curiosity. “Why doesn’t he want your brother to drive it?” he asked.

“John just wrecked his second Jaguar,” she explained.

“And he was lucky they make Jaguars with excellent safety features, to say nothing of air bags,” Stasia added. “He walked away with scratches and bruises. But this time his insurance company made threats.”

“Is he that bad a driver?” Tony chuckled, addressing Stasia.

“He’s absent-minded,” Odalie answered. “He was reaching for his cell phone in the pocket of the car door and took his eyes off the road. He went over a bridge into the river. Well, it’s not a river this time of year, only when the rains come,” she added.

“Okay, what was that?” he asked abruptly.

“A lot of our rivers don’t have water certain times of the year,” Odalie explained.

Tony, used to rivers that were full all the time, just stared.

“It’s a Western thing,” Odalie continued. “In Arizona, even in West Texas, it’s way worse,” she said.

He shook his head. “Every day, you learn something new.”

Odalie’s face revealed to her oldest friend that she was about to say something outrageous.

“Did your housekeeper come up already to supervise the cleaners and the other weekend hires?” Stasia said before Odalie could ask anything embarrassing.

“Yeah,” Tony told her, leaning back in the comfortable seat. “It takes a lot of work to get ready for that many people. I always have the checks issued with bonuses for the workers.”

“My parents do that for our workers when we have parties,” Odalie mentioned, without meaning to. “It’s a good thing to do. So many of them don’t make much from the agencies they work for.”

“My mother worked for one of those agencies, cleaning houses,” Tony said with a faint bite in his voice. “But she very rarely got anything extra.”

Which was probably why Tony paid people well, Odalie thought, and felt guilty for being so vicious to him half the time. She didn’t know why she was antagonistic. Well, yes, she did. She found Tony very attractive. She loved to sit and look at him when he didn’t notice. And she was still having uncomfortable flashbacks to that long, lingering look they’d shared at Big Spur while looking at the little fairy statue Maddie Lane Brannt had made of Odalie. The moment had haunted her. She’d never felt such a sensation in her whole life.

“I guess your parents have always been rich,” Tony mentioned to Odalie.

“Not really,” she said. “When Dad was little, there wasn’t much money. His grandfather and my grandmother’s husband went into business together and started building the ranch. But it was Dad’s idea to go into breeding purebred bulls and heifers. He’s turned it into a prosperous business, and especially when he branched out into modern genetics and stuff. It didn’t hurt that Mom had an amazing career as a singer and then started writing songs that won awards.”

“She’s a beautiful woman, too,” Tony added.

“Yes, she is,” Odalie said, smiling. “Dad loved her when they were teenagers. She loved him, too, but she fought him because he wanted to tell her what to do and how to live. She said she wasn’t being owned by any man.”

He chuckled.

“Cole would have walked all over her if she’d given in,” Stasia remarked. “Heather often says that.”

“Dad’s forceful. But he’s fair,” Odalie added. She grinned. “He can still outride any cowboy on the place.”

“I noticed,” Tony said, having spent some time watching Cole when they were at the ranch not too long ago. “He’s a tough guy.”

“You have to be to control our cowboys,” Odalie replied. “Talk about a wild bunch!”

“They get drunk occasionally,” Stasia explained.

“And occasionally it takes a big fist in the right place to settle down the most belligerent of them,” Odalie said gleefully.

“Sounds like home,” Tony mused.

“I guess New York gets rough, too,” Odalie conceded.

“New Jersey,” he corrected. “I grew up on the backstreets.” He clammed up. Some of those stories weren’t fit for mixed company.

Odalie didn’t say a word. She’d read about half of the book she’d mentioned to Stasia. She was beginning to get a picture of Tony’s past life. Ironically, she felt sorry for him. A kid growing up in that sort of environment would have to be tough.

Stasia felt the tension in the car like a wound. So it was a good thing that they were pulling up at the front door.

Big Ben opened the back door and Odalie climbed out, followed by Stasia. Tony got out on the opposite side and stretched. Odalie, watching, almost groaned. He was so damned gorgeous!

She averted her eyes before he caught her staring. There, on the porch, Mrs. Murdock was standing, wearing a beautifully embroidered apron over her nice tan-and-white dress, her hair in a bun, her blue eyes twinkling behind the lenses of her glasses.

“Glory be, you made it alive! Big Ben drove all the way, then, did he?” she teased.

Tony made a face at her. “Show some respect, woman! I pay your wages,” he roared.

She made a face back. “As good a cook as I am, I’d have a job five minutes after you fired me, and for more money!”

“Ha!”

Stasia was roaring with laughter. Odalie, watching, wasn’t sure how to take what she was hearing.

“He makes threats,” Mrs. Murdock told her. “I make threats. Pay it no mind. Come in! I have coffee. I expect you’re all dying for it.” She paused and glanced at Odalie. “I have spring water...”

“I love coffee,” Odalie told her with a warm smile. “In fact, I live on it.”

She relaxed. “All right, then! We’ve had a guest now and again with odd tastes in what to drink and eat...”

“Stop right there unless you want to be looking for work again,” Tony threatened.

“Not my fault you brought her here,” Mrs. Murdock said huffily. “Strange woman at that. Only wanted two leaves of lettuce with one radish on it, no dressing, and a bottle of fresh spring water. How in the world do you get fresh spring water...?”

“I said...” Tony began belligerently.

“Good thing she only lasted one day,” Mrs. Murdock finished, unabashed. “I was searching out a source of hemlock leaves...”

“I said...” he repeated, louder.

“Oh, never mind,” Mrs. Murdock sighed. “With my luck, poison would only have encouraged her anyway.”

Tony threw up his hands.

The guests started arriving two hours later. Stasia had gone to the enormous room she and Odalie would share for the weekend to take a nap, and Odalie had gone right with her, unwilling to be left alone with Tony. He noticed that, and his even temper began to deteriorate.

“What are you going to wear?” Odalie asked Stasia while they were going through the closet, where a maid had hung their collection of garments.

“I thought this,” Stasia said, indicating the long silk skirt with its pretty glittery blouse that matched.

“Lovely, especially with your coloring,” Odalie replied, smiling. “But surely not with spike heels?”

Stasia shook her head. “Low stacked ones. I’m wobbly from time to time,” she laughed. “What are you going to wear?”

“Is this too dressy?” Odalie asked, displaying the silk couture dress she’d shown her friend at her apartment.

“Not at all. It’s lovely. We can dress down a little after tonight, but we want to make a good first impression,” she added. “At least, I do,” she teased.

Odalie slipped into the dress, which flattered her full figure, and then started to pin up her hair.

“No,” Stasia said firmly. She took the clips away and the brush, and concocted a forties-ish hairstyle, with a wave in front and long, luxurious big curls that fell around Odalie’s shoulders.

“I’ll look odd,” Odalie protested.

“You’ll look unique,” she replied. “It’s gorgeous, so hush. I’m wearing mine the same way. We’ll be twins,” she teased.

“In that case, okay. I didn’t want to stand out.”

Stasia eyed her, taking in her elegant carriage, her lovely face with just the lightest touch of makeup, her pretty hairdo and the couture dress she was wearing with spiked heels that matched. “Wow,” she said. “You’ll have men following you around like puppy dogs.”

Odalie made a face. “The last thing I want,” she scoffed.

“Doesn’t matter what you want,” her friend teased. “You’re a knockout.”

“You look lovely. Pregnancy makes you radiant,” Odalie said with a smile.

“I feel radiant. Well, we should go down.”

Odalie made a face. “Is this trip really necessary?”

Stasia took her arm. “Yes.”

The hall was full of people. Tony was standing there with a male guest, but when he noticed the two women coming down the winding staircase, he turned. His black eyes landed on Odalie. She was a vision, so beautiful that his stomach clenched.

He felt his heart drop with every step she took. She was the most exquisite woman he’d ever seen in his life. He ached to wrap her up tight and kiss her until she couldn’t stand. His teeth ground together. But that was a thought he had to kill, and at once. He didn’t dare touch her. She had a career in sight that she’d worked all her life for. Besides, what did a guy like him have to offer a young woman like that?

Odalie was stifling similar thoughts. Tony in a tux was a sight to make the most sophisticated woman drool, much less Odalie. His olive skin contrasted with the spotless white shirt he was wearing with the tux and black tie, which made him look even more handsome than he ordinarily did. His tall, husky, muscular body was also the stuff of dreams. Add that to his wavy black hair with just a few silver threads and those black eyes, and he was a delight to anybody’s eyes.

She lowered her eyes to the steps because she was staring at him. That would never do. He didn’t like her and couldn’t have made it any more obvious. He tolerated her for Stasia’s sake, but that was all he did, and she’d better remember it. Tony had a mistress. Everybody knew. She wondered if the woman wanted to come tonight, or if he let her mingle with his highbrow guests. She fought down jealousy. She’d never met the other woman. Stasia said she was beautiful and very sweet, that she wasn’t catty or mean or unkind. Stasia also said that the woman had men besides Tony. That was still a puzzle. Tony looked the possessive sort.

Well, that kind of lifestyle was a mystery to Odalie. She tried not to think about it. She didn’t like to imagine Tony with other women.

“Big crowd,” Stasia told Tony with a grin.

He chuckled and bent to kiss her cheek. “Just my style,” he teased. “You look lovely.”

“Thanks,” Stasia replied, smiling up at him.

“This the adopted daughter you tell everybody about?” the man with Tony asked, staring at Stasia. “What a dish!”

The man was tall and athletic, with too many teeth, a smile that was just short of arrogant, and a face that was pleasant but not pleasant enough to attract any but a truly desperate woman.

Stasia just stared at him, unsmiling.

It was so unlike her that Odalie’s eyes widened.

“Yes,” Tony said shortly. “You need to sample those cakes Mrs. Murdock made, Burt,” he added curtly. “Over on the canapé table.”

So that was the infamous Burt Donalson, Odalie thought. He looked like what he was, a slick predator who thought he was God’s gift to women.

“You can’t banish me without formal introductions, Tony, not after I drove Tom all this way,” he added, nodding toward an elderly man in a tux standing at the drink table demanding something nonalcoholic.

Tony had to grit his teeth at the way Burt was already looking at Odalie. But it was a party and he had to be nice. No good thinking about where his bullets were...

“This is Stasia Everett,” he introduced, “my adopted daughter. She’s married to an ex-merc, and she’s pregnant, so hands off,” he added coldly.

“Who, me? I’m married, you know, Tony,” Burt said in a sleazy tone.

“Yeah, I know. Do you?” Tony shot back.

But the man had industrial-strength skin, and it showed. “And this is?” he asked Odalie.

“Stasia’s sister-in-law, Odalie,” he replied curtly.

“So nice to meet you,” Burt said and moved a step closer.

Odalie moved a step back, smiling politely. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Donalson,” she said in a hostess-type voice. “Oh, look, isn’t your friend motioning to you?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.

In fact, Tom actually was, and emphatically. It was a stroke of luck.

“So he is. I’ll talk to you later, then,” he told Odalie, and smiled at her warmly before caressing her with his eyes. He left with obvious reluctance.

Her smile was beginning to hurt. The minute he turned his back, it left her.

“Nice manners,” Tony remarked without wanting to.

“My mother raised me that way,” she said. “Sadly, there’s never a latigo handy when you really want one!”

“A what?” Tony asked.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “It’s a long strap on a saddle, attached to the pommel, that you use to adjust the cinch,” she explained. She grinned. “Or, in Spanish, if the accent is on the first syllable of luchador , which also means latigo without the accent, it’s a Mexican wrestler.” She wiggled both eyebrows.

He raised both eyebrows. “What would you know about wrestling?” he asked unexpectedly.

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “ Monday Night Raw ? The Rock? Nature Boy Ric Flair? The Undertaker? Vince McMahon...?”

Tony was almost gasping.

Odalie gave him an exasperated look. “I grew up watching wrestling with my brothers. I got my first broken bone trying to take John down into a leg lock!”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tony said slowly.

“You might be, but what does that have to do with wrestling?” Odalie asked pertly.