Mad About You

books.

Chapter One

    "SEVEN BALL IN THE SIDE POCKET," Bailey Kallihan said quietly. He squinted down the length of his cue, sliding the smooth stick back and forth through spread fingers. The stares of several dozen patrons of the Sage Saloon bored into his skin. George Jones wailed mournfully in the background. A trickle of sweat slid between his shoulder blades. Rather than think about the three hundred dollars he stood to lose on this game, Bailey focused on the three hundred he intended to win.
    He drew back a final time and drove the stick toward the ball.
    "Bailey!"
    Startled, he jerked forward and struck the ball with a dull thwack , sending it spiraling toward the hole. Several inches from the target, the seven ball veered and struck the eight ball in its newfound path. Bailey winced and swore as the black ball disappeared unceremoniously into the pocket. The crowd groaned in dismay.
    "Scratch!" his opponent yelled above the erupting mayhem, then scooped Bailey's money off the rail with a grin.
    Straightening, Bailey scowled, turned to the crowd, and demanded, "Who the hell did that?"
    The spectators shrugged and parted, heads pivoting. Bailey tossed his cue stick onto the table and scanned the gathering of cowboy wannabes and their groupies. The voice had sounded female. He would never hit a woman, but if Lisa had yelled for him, she might warrant a good shaking.
    A small commotion near the back seemed to be moving forward. When a couple of catcalls caught Bailey's ear, he angled himself for a better look at the emerging woman. He heard murmured apologies before she pushed her way clear and stopped to stand ten feet from him.
    Recognition slammed into Bailey. He blinked hard while his heart plummeted below sea level. His skin tingled and his throat closed. The suit and hairstyle were foreign to him, but those eyes... he'd seen those caramel-colored eyes swimming with tears so many times, there was no mistaking them now, shimmering once again.
    "Virginia?" he whispered.
    She clutched her purse in a white-knuckled grip. "Bailey," she said simply, her beautiful face passive, her voice an uneven croak.
    Years dissolved... she could have been the same girl of eight years ago who'd told him through worried tears about the baby they'd made... or the girl who'd later repeated through happy tears her wedding vows... or the girl who'd announced through inconsolable tears their two-month-old son had been kid napped... or the girl who'd declared through angry tears she wanted a divorce.
    Well, Virginia Catron wasn't a girl anymore, but from the look in her eyes, life was still batting her around. He took no pride in the fact that he'd caused most of her early heartache. But what now? A death? One of her parents perhaps?
    He walked toward her on somewhat shaky legs. She inhaled sharply, her chest rising, as if gathering her strength. As he approached her, the crowd receded but remained rapt, as if sensing some climax. Two feet away he stopped, reached his hand toward her awkwardly, then shoved it in his jeans pocket at the last second. "Virginia, what's wro—"
    "They found our son."
    The words echoed in his beer-fuzzed mind. They found our son. Four words he'd prayed to hear in the beginning. They found our son. Then, after months passed, words he'd dreaded to hear. They found our son. Finally, words he'd resigned himself to never hearing. They found our son.
    "Did you hear me, Bailey?" Her voice trembled. She stood rigid and made tight little fists with her hands. A crumpled white tissue trailed out of one. Her face had been cried free of makeup, and her lips were pinched.
    It was too much, seeing Virginia again and picturing the remains of their infant son, Bailey, Jr. He'd lost years of sleep wondering what kind of tortures his child had been subjected to. Flashes of himself walking alongside volunteers canvassing the area where their baby's blanket had been found came back to him. Had he walked right by the tiny body? Now had hunters found the miniature skeleton? Pain burned in his belly and incinerated his chest.
    He stared at Virginia, his tongue thick and unwieldy. She was expecting him to say something profound, but he could manage only to nod. "I heard you." To himself he sounded like a wounded animal, and he saw her flinch in response.
    For the first time, he remembered their audience. Old friends, mere acquaintances, and complete strangers gawked at them, unable to hear their conversation, but looking