by Carly Bloom
Everyone ooh-ed and ahh-ed appropriately, except for Anna, while Hope beamed.
“Hope, did you help make that?” Claire asked.
“Yes ma’am,” Hope said, pulling out a toothpick and popping a cherry tomato in her mouth.
“Hope, I told you to wait until after,” Jessica said.
“I forgot,” Hope said with a glint in her eye that indicated otherwise.
Jessica shook her head, but she was grinning. “The kids at Hope House would love to make some of the decorations for the ball. I’ve talked to Sally Larson about it—”
Anna produced an audible harrumph. When everybody looked at her, she said, “We want tasteful decorations.”
Hope House was a community center for folks with physical and developmental disabilities, or extra special abilities, as Hope and Jessica liked to say. Hope had Down syndrome, and the center was started by her grandmother, Mavis Long.
Everyone collectively glared at Anna.
Hope handed out toothpicks while Jessica pointed out the other items on the tray. “Fried Brie with a red currant sauce, albondigas with a pepper cream sauce, chorizo and mushroom tapas, crepes with camembert and chives…”
“This is divine!” Claire said.
Because it really was. Like, totally more than they could have hoped for.
“Does this mean we’re not doing the nacho bar?” Trista asked. “Bubba was really looking forward to it.”
“No nacho bar,” Anna said. “This is going to be classy, and Bubba is just going to have to deal with it. No hot dogs. No cheese from a can. No big bags of chips on the table.”
“What about beverages?” Claire asked. “Open bar is out.”
“That means a cash bar is in,” Maggie said.
Miss Mills crossed her legs at the ankles and her arms over the giant purse on her lap and said, “I’d like it to be known, for the record, that I am against serving alcohol at this event. I have a delightful punch recipe that calls for lime sherbet. It’s a real people-pleaser at funeral receptions.”
Anna just looked at her.
“Go ahead,” Miss Mills said, nodding at Anna. “Write it down in the minutes.”
“There are no minutes being kept—just notes—and I’m not writing it down. I wrote it down at the very first meeting, right here on the same page where I have the quote from the DJ. It says, ‘Cumbia Outlaw, music from the sixties to today, $475 for four hours, Miss Mills is officially opposed to alcohol.’”
“It wouldn’t hurt to write it down again,” Miss Mills said stubbornly.
“It wouldn’t help, either,” Anna said. “Jesus heard you the first time.”
Miss Mills yanked her daily devotional out of her bag and commenced to angry-fanning. “There will be drunkenly misconduct, mark my words.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Maggie said.
“And possibly Nerf gun battles,” Alice said quietly, with a glance at Claire and a wink.
Claire had practiced various scenarios for how she’d react if Ford Jarvis ever showed his face in Big Verde again. None of them had included a plastic gun and foam darts. And yet…
She’d never forget the sight of him jumping around as she’d aimed for those knees. Knees! He’d been wearing shorts!
“What are you grinning about, Miss Kowalski?” Maggie asked.
“Nothing.”
“We’ve got that rampage model Nerf gun,” Trista said. “It slams out twenty-five darts at a time if you want to enter the gala locked and loaded.”
“I don’t know what y’all are talking about,” Jessica said. “But it sounds fun.”
It wasn’t fun. It was humiliating.
Also maybe a little fun.
“On the first Thursday night of the month we let the teens do Nerf battles in the library,” Alice said. “The stacks make it really challenging, and they get to blow off steam and play like kids again.”
“That sounds absolutely wonderful,” Claire said. “As soon as the new library is open, they’ll be able to have even bigger and better battles.”
“I sure do hope so,” Alice said. “And I want y’all to know how much I appreciate this. How much I appreciate each of you.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Claire concentrated as she applied sparkly pink polish to the nail of her pinky toe. With all of the endless ranch work and committee meetings and back-and-forth discourse with suppliers, she hadn’t had time for a professional pedicure before the Boots and Ball Gowns gala.
“Thanks for letting us get ready at your house, Alice.”
“No problem! It’s fun, and we’re just a mile away from the Village Chateau.”
Like Claire and Maggie, Alice was wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe.
“If you two don’t mind,” Alice said, “I’m going to go get my gown on. Feel free to use the guest room or bathroom when you’re ready to slip into yours.”
“Some of us will be squeezing rather than slipping,” Maggie said.
Claire set the nail polish bottle down and admired her handiwork. “Not too shabby.”
“I don’t know why you bothered,” Maggie said. “You’re just going to stick those piggies in a pair of boots.”
“You’re jealous because you currently can’t even see your piggies,” Claire said, glancing at her gorgeous new white and silver cowboy boots resting in a box. “And there’s no way I can put unpolished toes in those boots. They don’t deserve it.”
“For what you paid for them, you’d better get married in them,” Maggie said.
Claire just sighed and shook her head. She’d always dreamed of getting married in a big, fluffy wedding gown and a pair of fancy cowboy boots. It was a Texas thang. But now, her wedding dreams seemed childish and immature.
Prince Charming didn’t just come along because you wanted him to. And sometimes he came with baggage he couldn’t unpack. And then, you had to let him go.
After shooting him with a Nerf gun.
What Claire had learned from the flood and her dad’s cancer—and all that had happened since—was that life was unpredictable. It didn’t follow some kind of storybook outline. You didn’t know what chapter you were in, and nobody was guaranteed a happily-ever-after at the end.
“Actually,” she said to Maggie, “I’m probably going to put these fancy boots on tomorrow and castrate some bulls.”
“Is it because of the mood you’ve been in? Or is it just time?”
Claire laughed. “It’s just time.”
And yes, she was in a mood.
Maggie pointed to a box on the coffee table. “What’s in that?”
Claire opened the box and lifted out a pair of rhinestone-studded spurs. “Fully functional,” she said.
“Holy cow! Those are insane! Where on earth did you get them?”
“Relic from my rodeo queen days,” Claire said. “I also have a—”
“Shh,” Maggie said. Then she whispered, “What is that sound?”
Loud moaning and gasping came through the door of Alice’s bedroom.
“Is there a man in there with Alice?” Maggie asked, eyes wide.
Claire listened closely. “Spanx,” she finally said. “She’s worming her way into a pair of Spanx.”
“I don’t know what those are,” Maggie said.
“Wow. That was really spoken from a place of privilege.”
Maggie furrowed her brows. “But what—”
At that moment, Alice burst out of her bedroom, cheeks pink and huffing as if she’d just run a marathon. She wore a champagne-colored, heavily beaded, one-shouldered gown.
Maggie and Claire gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Alice asked, turning her head and looking over her shoulder.
“You’re stunning!” Claire said.
Maggie nodded. “You’re red carpet and paparazzi material.”
Alice blushed. “I possibly went a little overboard, but this gala is for my library, after all.”
“The gown is perfect in every way,” Clair
e said.
“Thanks, guys. But you’d better get yours on now,” Alice said. “We need to leave in about twenty minutes.”
Claire and Maggie hustled down the hall to the guest room. “You first,” Claire said.
Maggie unzipped a bag on the bed and slipped off her robe. Her pregnant body was stunning, and Claire felt a lump forming in her throat as Maggie stepped into a flowing red dress with an empire waist.
“Oh, Maggie,” Claire whispered.
Maggie stood in front of the full-length mirror and cupped her baby bump with both hands. When she looked up at Claire, her eyes were glistening. She let go of her belly and fanned her face with her hands. “Oh gosh. My eyes are leaking.”
Maggie had always been the town’s tomboy. One of the guys. But she sure didn’t look like one now.
Claire wrapped her arms around her friend. “I’m so happy for you. You know that, right?”
Maggie smiled. “I do know that.” She turned to gaze at her image in the mirror again, eyes drifting down to her belly. “Never in a million years did I believe this would ever be me.”
“I did,” Claire whispered. “I believed.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said, letting go of Claire and wiping her eyes. “Now, let’s get you into your beautiful gown.”
A few minutes later, Maggie zipped Claire into her blue satin gown. “You’re stuffed in there like a sausage,” she said. “But what a freaking gorgeous sausage.”
Claire looked at herself in the mirror. The sleeveless dress had a dramatically flared skirt—lined in tulle to make it swirly—that flowed into a slight train. Beaded pearls accentuated the waist and hem. Claire twirled around and said, “Wait for the best part…Pockets!”
“Oh my God,” Maggie said. “It’s like the Holy Grail of ball gowns. And you look just like Cinderella.”
Claire gasped. “It does look like a Cinderella gown. What was I thinking?”
“Consciously, that you look kick-ass in blue. Subconsciously, that you’re a princess and you’re ready for your happily-ever-after.”
Claire put an arm around Maggie. “I absolutely am ready for that,” she said. “But I’m writing my own story, and this princess does not need a prince. Because I’m enough, Maggie. All by myself.”
“Oh, honey,” Maggie said, giving Claire a squeeze. “Are you just now figuring that out?”
* * *
Ford helped Gerome into his truck and then climbed into the driver’s seat. Gerome had called him earlier in the day and asked if he felt like taking a small drive to see the pretty piece of property he knew of for sale.
Since Ford was terribly tired of living at the Big Verde Motor Inn (Oscar seemed tired of it too), he had rushed right over. “You sure seem a lot stronger, Gerome,” he said as they pulled away from the ranch house.
“That’s because I am,” he said. “And continuing to improve every day.”
There was no more chemo scheduled, and hopefully Gerome would be back to his old self in another few weeks. “Which way are we headed?”
“Across Wailing Woman.”
Across Wailing Woman? There was nothing over there but Miss Daisy, the foreman’s cabin, and Ruben’s place. He raised an eyebrow at Gerome.
“We’re going to see Ruben,” Gerome said.
Gerome hadn’t been getting out much. And Ford wasn’t going to begrudge him a drive around the ranch, especially since Ruben’s place at Oak Meadow was the prettiest spot on the property.
They drove across the bridge and past the lane that led to Miss Daisy. Ford intentionally didn’t glance at it. He’d promised Gerome he wouldn’t bother Claire, and he hadn’t. But he never stopped thinking about her.
She had no reason to forgive him for what he’d done, and he didn’t expect her to.
He hoped she would though.
They passed the foreman’s place next.
“I’m about to fill that cabin,” Gerome said. “For good, or for at least a good long while.”
Ford swallowed, heart hammering away. Gerome wasn’t going to offer it to him, was he? Maybe the pretty property he was talking about was the foreman’s cabin.
“Beau and Bryce,” Gerome said. “They’re good, loyal men. And they’ve shown their grit these last few weeks. I couldn’t choose one over the other, so I figured I’d just promote them both.”
“And what about Claire? You can’t just kick her out of the position without something else to offer her.”
He heard the defensiveness in his voice, but he couldn’t help it. Claire had more than proven herself, hadn’t she?
“She’s going to be my new vice president of marketing,” Gerome said. He smiled and added, “How about that?”
Ford smiled. He wished he could be there when Claire got the news. “I think that will make her very happy. And you know she’ll be good at it.”
He was a bit disappointed not to be taking part. The ranch was headed in new and exciting directions. But he’d had his opportunity, and he’d blown it.
“I hear you’re doing a fine job for Mr. Kelsey,” Gerome said.
“Yes, sir.” The Kelsey Ranch wasn’t a bad gig. It’s just that it wasn’t what he wanted.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Ford turned onto the road that led to Oak Meadow and Ruben’s place.
“There’s a bit of smoke,” Gerome said. “I wonder what Ruben’s burning.”
“God knows,” Ford said. “The last time I saw him burning something, it was for a weird ritual after the flood.”
“Homecoming,” Gerome said. “And cleansing. He told me.”
“It’s crazy talk, if you ask me.”
“No crazier than flipping over a horseshoe or not setting a hat on the bed,” Gerome said. “And by the way, I never set my hat on the bed. It’ll burn your house down.”
Ford grinned.
When they got to Oak Meadow, he turned the engine off and rolled down the windows. “Would you like me to help you out, Gerome?”
“Oh, I’m not getting out. It’s you who needs to talk to Ruben.”
Ford gawked at Gerome, then realized it and closed his mouth. “I don’t need to—”
“He’s waving you over,” Gerome said.
Ford sighed and got out of the truck. Ruben was standing near a fire. God knew what kind of nonsense he was up to. “What are you welcoming now?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Ruben said. “Just burning brush. But I’m not surprised to see you here.”
The sun was starting to set, and the smoke from Ruben’s fire swirled in the air, twisting and turning like an exotic dancer.
Boo came over, and goddammit, he circled Ford’s legs twice, counterclockwise.
“I see you’re still cursed,” Ruben said simply, staring at Boo, who’d now plopped down on his side in the dirt.
“No such thing,” Ford said, although a bit of unease crept up his spine. He reminded himself that it didn’t matter. Even if the curse was real—which it absolutely wasn’t—he had nothing left to lose. He’d already lost Claire.
“You know,” Ruben said. “The only curses that have power over us are the ones we put on ourselves. The others aren’t real.”
“None of them are real.”
“Okay,” Ruben said. “If you say so.”
Ford didn’t appreciate the patronizing tone. “Are you trying to say I’ve cursed myself? Why would I do that?”
Ruben shrugged. “Loss, usually. Maybe you lost something in the flood when it displaced you.”
The wind shifted slightly, and smoke blew into Ford’s face. It burned his eyes, and he moved to the other side of the fire. “We’ve been through this, Ruben. The flood didn’t get anywhere near the foreman’s cabin. I know you did that smoke mumbo-jumbo, but I was not displaced by the flood.”
“The smoke doesn’t lie. It brings in those displaced. Welcomes them home. And you came with the rest of the animals.”
Ford shook his head. Ruben was going to Ruben, and
that meant he’d spout nonsense until the cows came home.
Ruben cocked his head and looked at Ford. His gaze was unwavering, despite the smoke that made both their eyes water. “You know,” he said. “Maybe it wasn’t this flood. Was there another one?”
Ford took a step back, and Ruben raised an eyebrow.
This was stupid. And yet…
“There was another flood,” he said softly. “A long time ago. And I lost my little sister.”
Lost her. It was such a strange way of putting it. Abby hadn’t been misplaced or left behind somewhere. She hadn’t slipped through a hole like change in your pocket.
She’d died.
“She drowned when I was supposed to be watching her.”
Ruben nodded as if everything made sense. He reached out and touched Ford’s shoulder, and Ford didn’t step away, even though he wanted to. In fact, he wanted to run. He wanted to get in his truck and drive far, far away.
It’s what he always did when the feelings got too big.
“I’m sorry,” Ruben said. “That’s an unbelievably deep loss. No wonder you cursed yourself.”
“I haven’t cursed myself, Ruben.”
Although he’d been running for an awfully long time.
“No roots. No ties. No home. You don’t want to get close to anyone, because you’re afraid of the responsibility that comes with loving them. Were you with your sister when she drowned?”
Ford squeezed his eyes shut.
He’d told Abby not to get too close to the water, and then he’d busied himself with searching for grasshoppers for his fishhook. The creek was really running because of all the rain, and he’d wanted to drop a line in it.
He was only twelve. How could he have known they were under a flash flood watch?
The water had come with a roar.
And Abby was gone.
Ford, you were supposed to have been watching her!
“There’s always a chance we’ll lose what we love,” Ruben said. “It’s easier to stay alone. You can’t lose what you don’t have.”
A wistfulness had entered Ruben’s voice, and Ford opened his eyes to see Ruben gazing into the distance with watery eyes. Maybe it was just the smoke.