Perfect Touch by Elizabeth Lowell

Liza.
    â€œI’ve been waiting an hour,” she said. “If you want to fuck your little friend, do it on your own time.”
    Sara felt the tension sweep through Jay’s body. She remembered the arguments that her mother and father had had, fights both savage and bloodless, words and acid emotions from either side of the chipped paint on the kitchen table.
    â€œWould it be better for you if I waited in the truck?” Sara asked in a voice too low for Liza to overhear.
    â€œIt would be better if Liza learned to keep a civil tongue in her head,” he said, voice equally soft. “But if you want to lie low, I won’t force you.”
    The sheer neutrality of his voice told her just how angry he was. And beneath that, she wondered if she was being tested somehow.
    I wouldn’t blame him. If I owned something like the Custers, I’d want to take the measure of anyone I was going to trust them with.
    â€œWill this be about the Custers?” she asked.
    â€œCan’t think of any other reason she’d be here.”
    â€œThen I’ll just pull on my big girl pants and come along.”
    He gave her a sideways glance and a smile. “If those aren’t your big girl pants, my heart stops to think of what they would look like.”
    â€œAh, the sweet smell of cowsh.”
    â€œCowsh?”
    â€œCow shit.”
    He laughed and gave her a one-armed hug.
    Liza stood on the porch, fists on her hips.
    Jay took Sara by the arm and walked slowly toward the ranch house.
    She noticed that despite Liza’s obvious impatience to talk to Jay, shehad taken the time to change from her courtroom clothes. Her oversized fur-collared jacket came up around her head, and her needle-heeled boots belonged in the city. So did the black leather pants. The fury etching her face made her features sharper and deeper, aging her fiercely.
    She’s afraid, Sara realized. But why? Obviously she’s not worried about her next meal or even her next pair of couture boots.
    Barton slouched in the doorway behind his mother, hands in the pockets of his loose slacks. He had changed, too. His slacks were brown, worn with a pale silk shirt and an equally pale, silky jacket thrown over his shoulders. His shoes were casually expensive brown leather. The expression on his face was amused.
    Sara felt like she was walking in on the third act of a play.
    â€œWhat happened today isn’t any kind of justice and you know it,” Liza said.
    â€œIt’s a pleasure to see you, too,” Jay drawled. “Good to know that you still remember how to get to the ranch. Barton, you’re blocking the doorway.”
    Jay led Sara past his glaring stepmother and her amused child.
    â€œAren’t you going to answer my question?” Liza started to point at him but stopped herself.
    The harsh light on her skin made every worry line stand out.
    â€œI will when you ask one,” Jay said.
    Sara felt both Liza and Barton staring at her like she was up for sale. Or rent. Red flared across her cheekbones. It wasn’t shame. She had gotten over that useless emotion in high school. The burn on her cheeks was all anger. She wanted to get in Liza’s face and tell her that unlike others, Sara wasn’t the type to flat-back her way to success.
    â€œI’m Sara Medina, art historian and design consultant,” Sara said pleasantly. “So pleased to meet you.” Not.
    Liza flicked her eyes up and down in disapproval and then frowned at Jay. “So Beck is right. You’re going to sell them all off instead of keeping this a private matter.”
    Without a word, Jay kept walking with Sara on his arm.
    Liza and Barton gave way.
    In that moment Sara understood that Jay’s command presence hadn’t come from a uniform and insignia. He had been born with it.
    â€œWell? Are you?” Liza demanded as she followed them inside.
    Sara felt the tension in Jay’s body, but his pace, like