Shock pulsed through me, an electrical feeling that both tingled and hurt. “She doesn’t want the divorce?”
“Apparently not.”
“Oh, Trey—”
“It’s rough right now. My attorney says counseling is a good idea. It’ll give him leverage in the negotiations.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“I guess. But the marriage is over. Kathy needs to accept the inevitable. Maybe this will help her.”
I mustered both my intellect and common sense. “I think it’s a good idea.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” I’d never met Kathy or even seen a photograph, but I felt a loyalty to her as a woman. “Anytime a relationship ends, there’s wreckage. If you clean it up now, you can both move on.”
“I like that thought.”
“So do I.”
His voice dropped an octave. “I want the divorce to be final when I see you again. Joan, I . . .” His words disintegrated into silence.
If the miles had melted to nothing, I would have been in his arms. My own voice came out breathy, which wasn’t like me at all, except with Trey. “How much longer?”
“Too long.” A new strength reverberated over the line, and I heard the determined man who wanted to honor his commitments. “Maybe someone else should bring the first load of horses. I made arrangements to take in four of them at the end of the week.”
Taking his lead, I made my voice brusque. “Then let’s get those horses on the road.” Our conversation shifted to practicalities and stayed there until we said good night.
The instant the phone went dead, questions stormed through my mind: Where did I fit in Trey’s life? Did I even have a place? Did I want a place? He was in the middle of a divorce but still legally married. No way did I want to be the other woman, or worse, a cliché. My feminism granted me independence but it demanded integrity in return.
I didn’t have answers, so I shoved the questions aside with the belief that the divorce would render them moot. In the meantime, Trey and I returned to the boundaries of friendship, though loneliness gusted through me every time we whispered good-bye across the miles.
Two long weeks passed. Trey said nothing about Kathy or counseling, and I didn’t ask. When there was news, he’d tell me and we’d plan for his visit.
Only that didn’t happen.
I was upstairs in my office with the window open wide, working on the syllabus for American History 101, when the hum of an approaching vehicle broke my concentration. I peeked out the window and saw a heavy-duty pickup, brand new, hauling a four-horse trailer, also brand new.
There were no deliveries scheduled, no reason anyone would be bringing horses. I’d spoken to Trey just last night, and nothing at all was said about the rescue horses waiting at his ranch in Texas. Squinting to make out details, I saw bug splat on the windshield and white out-of-state license plates. Why hadn’t Trey said anything? It didn’t make sense—unless the scoundrel planned to surprise me!
I flew out the door and hurried to the barn a quarter mile away. Excitement gave my feet wings—and my heart, too. Was the divorce final? Were we free to be more than friends? To occupy the same space and breathe the same air; to hold hands and kiss and do more than talk on the phone?
In just minutes, the massive barn loomed in front of me. I smelled hay and horses, then exhaust from the hot engine of the pickup. Passing it, I glanced inside and saw an empty McDonald’s coffee cup, a dark brown Stetson on the passenger’s seat, and an open package of Wrigley’s Doublemint gum—all commonplace items, but things Trey liked.
A ranch hand named Bobby strode out of the barn. “Hello, Miss Prescott. Some of our new guests have arrived.”
“Yes, I can see that.” I looked past him in search of Trey—or whoever had brought the horses.
Bobby led the last horse out of the trailer, leaving me to walk alone into the barn. Cool air washed over my flushed cheeks, and I blinked a few times to adjust to the dim interior. Trey was nowhere in sight. Maybe he hadn’t driven the horses after all. Maybe he was still in Texas—with Kathy.
My heart slowed to a crawl.
But in the next breath, I spotted him twenty feet away, striding toward me with a grin on his face and a glint in his dark eyes. He’d stunned me, and he knew it. I didn’t like surprises, but Trey took pride in pulling them off. We stopped short of hugging, but only because of Bobby tending to the horses.
Trey extended his hand. I reached out to him with both of mine and we shook, clinging to each other far longer than was businesslike, or even just friendly.
“Come to dinner tonight,” I said, still holding tight. “We have a lot to catch up on.”
“Yes, we do.”
Stepping closer, I lowered my voice so Bobby couldn’t possibly hear my next question. “The divorce. Is it final?”
“Not yet. But I couldn’t wait to see you.”
So he was still a married man. My conscience squeaked a warning, but I didn’t let go of him. “I’m still glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
Our fingers squeezed even tighter, then we released each other in the same deep breath. Rumors would fly if we weren’t careful, so I raised my voice enough for Bobby to hear. “I’ll ask Graciela to make sure the bunkhouse is ready for you.”
Trey made a joke about needing to wash off horses and highway, and we parted with casual waves.
That night, after a wonderful meal thanks to Graciela, we ended up alone on the deck. Instead of being seated and wrapped in blankets like the first time, we stood on the side of the house facing the barn to the northwest. The sun sets late in June, and I remarked about the orange and lavender rays of light.
“Let’s take a walk.” Trey looped his arm around my waist. “I want to check the horses. It was a long ride for them.”
“For you, too.”
He turned his head just enough so I could see his eyes. “It was worth every minute to see you again.”
Every female circuit in my body lit up, burned hot, and stayed that way. We needed to have a serious conversation about the divorce, but I couldn’t bring myself to quench the relaxed mood. Encouraging him, I faked a pout. “Aren’t you a smooth talker!”
“You bet.” He looked at me again, this time face-to-face. “The past month has been pretty grim. I don’t know what I would have done without those phone calls, Joanie.”
It was the first time he used the nickname, and I tucked it close to my heart. “I’m glad I could help.”
“You did more than that, darlin’. You’re my best friend.”
Friend. Ha! There was nothing platonic about that tone, or the warmth of his arm around my waist. He pulled me to his side, and we walked that way to the barn, our steps even and perfectly matched as we veered toward the setting sun. The low angle cast the longest shadows of the day, and I knew if I looked over my shoulder, we’d be twenty feet tall.
When we reached the barn, he released me, opened the door, and turned on the light. The four horses were bedded down in their stalls, no worse for wear after the long trip. Trey told me their stories, and we both took pride in what we were doing for these fine animals.
I was proud of him—proud of us. Maybe that’s why I leaned in and kissed his cheek. The instant my lips grazed his skin, he turned. His eyes met mine, a wind stirred through our bodies, and the line we’d drawn blurred in the sands of desire. Trey brought his mouth to mine and we kissed so tenderly that tears pressed behind my eyes.
He needed this comfort, this assurance that he wasn’t evil or bad for the divorce, and I needed it, too. But the kiss shifted from tender to hungry, from giving to taking, from asking to telling. I wanted more of him. He wanted more of me. He was staying in the bunkhouse; only this time he was the only person there. No one would see if I followed him inside. Even if someone did, at that moment I didn’t care.
My ranch. My rules. Right?
But sleeping together so soon . . . Was I really consideri
ng it? I wasn’t a virgin, but I didn’t take sex casually. I met my first boyfriend as a senior in college. It had been the first time for both of us. My second relationship was with a man in grad school whom I loved but not enough to follow to Chicago.
This was different from either of those experiences. My feelings were deeper, sharp enough to cut, and far more complex because of Kathy and the divorce, but also because of the desire howling through me, and the belief that I was a strong, independent woman, in charge of my own body, and responsible only to myself.
Trey deepened the kiss and so did I. At that moment, I expected him to suggest we go to his room in the bunkhouse. Instead he pulled back. “Go home, Joan.”
Joan. Not Joanie. I froze, my pulse pounding and my body feverish. “I don’t want to leave.”
“I don’t want you to, but this is too soon. The divorce—”
“I know, Trey. I know. It’s not final on paper, but it’s final in your heart, right?”
“Yes. The marriage is over.”
“Then why—”
“Because I don’t want this to be our first time. I don’t want to feel like there’s someone else in the room—or even in our lives. It’s going to be good between us, darlin’. I feel it. But I don’t want just good. I want the best.”
“Oh, Trey—”
“Go on,” he said, his voice gentle now. “You’re testing my resolve.”
“You’re testing mine, too!” I huffed the words and took a step back, far more annoyed than relieved, but also impressed by his integrity. “All right. I’m leaving.”
He nodded once, and I walked out the barn door, my back to him as I sauntered toward the house. Would he follow me? What would he do if I veered to the bunkhouse instead?
“Hey, Joanie!” His voice came from forty feet away. I turned and saw him standing below the light fixture mounted above the barn door. “Get used to being tested, darlin’. Because I hope we’re testing each other for a long time to come.”
Instead of replying, I walked away in the dark, aware of him watching until he called out again that I should blink the porch light to signal I was safely home. Turning, I told him I would. When I reached the house, I blinked the light as I’d promised, then went up to bed alone. Or maybe not alone. Trey was in my every thought.
Chapter 14
When it came to dates, Daisy used to keep a mental scorecard: Good, Bad, and Never Again. Sitting next to Rafe, their shoulders touching in the eight-passenger rubber raft owned by River Run Adventures, she added a new category: Best Ever!
The boat was docking now, the final moment of an adventure that started six hours ago with a van ride upriver. Along with six other passengers, she and Rafe had donned life jackets and helmets, settled into the raft, and floated into the gentle heart of the Refuge River. The scenery and an occasional glide over Class I rapids had thrilled her.
The only thing missing was that first kiss. She was sure it was coming for one simple reason. If Rafe didn’t kiss her, she’d kiss him.
The workers on the dock tied off the boat, and the captain stepped onto the wooden deck. Turning, he helped out the first of three women in their sixties, life-long friends on a bucket-list trip for the one fighting cancer. A couple celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary went next, followed by a widower traveling cross-country alone in his RV, visiting his kids and grandkids as he went.
The captain extended his hand to Daisy, and she took it. Rafe climbed out on his own, and they both shed their helmets and orange life vests. Daisy paused to finger-comb her hair, then turned to Rafe.
He hooked his arm around her waist and guided her toward the parking lot. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved, actually.”
“Good. So am I.” He grinned. “Jesse suggested Dairy Queen, but—”
“Excellent!”
Rafe threw back his head and groaned. “I hate it when my brother’s right. I was going to suggest Cowboy’s Cantina, but if you want a Blizzard—”
“I do.” Daisy shoulder-bumped him. “This day has been perfect. I can’t think of a better way to top it off than with ice cream.”
“I can.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
In unison they turned to each other, that first kiss shining in their eyes. She smelled earth and river, the scented sunscreen they used, the warm cotton of his black t-shirt. The start of a five-o’clock shadow darkened his jaw, and the breeze tugged at his hair, still mussed from the helmet.
He lowered his head an inch, then waited. Daisy lifted her chin, her pulse racing and—
“Hey, you two! Have a wonderful life!”
Daisy jerked back. The bucket-list lady and her friends were waving from inside a red convertible Mini Cooper.
Rafe shook his head, then raised his arm in a casual salute. “Thank you, ladies. Enjoy the rest of your trip.”
Daisy added a big wave of her own. Life was precious. She knew it, and so did the woman with the short-short hair. Chemo had a way of putting life in perspective, both the beauty and the suffering. But the woman’s prognosis was good, and that eased Daisy’s heart as the Mini Cooper sped off with Bruce Springsteen blasting from the car speakers.
Rafe looped his arm around her waist. “Nice woman. I hope she does okay.”
“Me too.”
“Come on.” He tucked her against his side. Arm in arm, his ribs warming hers, he guided her to his car. “Let’s get that ice cream.”
Rafe polished off his double cheeseburger, dragged the last French fry through the ketchup, and drained his Coke. The day had been perfect from start to finish, and he gave himself a ten on the first-date meter. No points off for the interrupted kiss. The delay only ramped up the anticipation. And no points off for Dairy Queen, because Daisy was devouring her Oreo Cookie Blizzard.
Whatever she did, she did it with her whole heart. Today on the river, when a golden eagle soared overhead, she had gasped and pressed her hand to her heart. “God made this! Isn’t it amazing?” Rafe thought so too. The God part wasn’t big on his radar, but he appreciated Daisy’s sense of wonder and even envied it. She had gasped again during the run through a stretch of Class I rapids, tiny things by river standards but enough to make her cling to his arm.
They were finished eating except for the Blizzard, so he put their trash on the tray and set it near the edge of the table. Daisy dug her spoon into the soft ice cream, sighed contentedly before taking the bite, and gave him a thoughtful look. “You know what’s sad?”
He expected her to mention the woman battling cancer or the widower traveling alone in his RV. “What?”
“Chelsea.”
Sad wasn’t the word that came to Rafe’s mind. Chatterbox was more like it, along with annoying, run for cover, and Jesse’s promise to punch him in the face. He knew better than to share that joke—it was admittedly rude—so he merely nodded.
A smile as sweet as the ice cream sparkled in her eyes as she took a bite. “What aren’t you saying?”
Wow. She could read him already. Between her sense of humor and insight into people, she kept him on his toes. He loved bantering with her, but a warning bell clanged in his head. Criticizing her best friend was not the way to go. But he also wanted to be honest.
He draped his arm over the back of the booth and shrugged. “She and Jesse didn’t exactly hit it off.”
Daisy nodded in agreement, then scraped up another bite. “They bombed. What I don’t understand is why Jesse was so quiet. He hardly said a word all afternoon.”
Rafe snorted just as she took the bite—a dumb thing to do, but it just slipped out.
Swallowing fast, she set the cup down with the empty spoon. The look in her eyes no longer held a twinkle. “What did that mean?”
He didn’t want their first date to go sideways, but Jesse deserved a defense. “Chelsea’s nice, but she was trying awfully hard.”
“I know she talks a lot, but Jesse didn’t make it easy.”
“Yes, I do. But he’s not shy. He talks easily to people at church, and he’s great with his clients. For some reason, he didn’t help Chelsea at all. She was just trying to make conversation.”
“You have to admit—she talked a lot. It sounded like a sales pitch.”
“A sales pitch!”
“Something like that.”
“Well, it wasn’t.” Daisy nudged the ice cream cup to the side. “She’s outgoing. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. I’m more than okay with a woman letting a man know she’s interested, even making the first move. But no one—male or female—likes being chased down like a rabbit. Dating should be like a dance—not a hunt.”
Daisy’s expression shifted with her thoughts. “A dance is a wonderful description, but to say Chelsea is on a hunt is an overstatement. I admit she’s a talker. But if men were a little less . . . I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Let’s just drop it.”
“No. If you have something to say, I want to hear it.”
“Fine. I’ll say it. A lot of men don’t want to commit. Half of them are still little boys, and the other half are users—”
“Whoa!” He arched back, his fingers on the edge of the Formica table. “That’s not fair.”
“Okay, maybe not all men. But—”
“It’s not fair,” he repeated. “Jesse’s not immature. He’s one of the most adult adults I know. So is my best friend on the force. D’Andre Scott took me under his wing my rookie year and is one of the best cops I know. He doesn’t date because he has an ex-wife, two kids, and child support that devours his paycheck—not to mention weekend custody of the kids, who both play sports. He’s not commitment-phobic. He’s over-committed.”
“He sounds like a good man,” Daisy admitted. “So is Jesse. But my experience is different. There are a lot of men who refuse to commit. It’s selfish.”
“Is it?” Rafe’s foot started to tap. “I’m not defending deadbeats here. But women come with as much baggage as D’Andre.”
A Gift to Cherish (Road to Refuge Book 2) Page 13