That Woman in Wyoming

by Sherry Lewis

  “No, Mom. She’s a widow with two teenage daughters, and honest as the day is long.”

  “Well, then?” He could picture his mother leaning up in her chair so she could see his father through the door to his study. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “What’s wrong is that he’s compromising his case,” his father said. “What’s wrong is that he knows better. What’s wrong—”

  His mother interceded again. “Maybe so, but falling in love isn’t always logical, is it? Max wouldn’t let anything compromise his integrity, and I’d say his happiness is more important than some case.”

  “You don’t understand, Alice—”

  “I understand perfectly. I know my son. I know how his mind works and what kind of heart he has.”

  “The problem,” Max put in carefully, “is that she still doesn’t know who I am.”

  “Ooh, Max.” Now his mother sounded disappointed. “You haven’t told her?”

  He felt like dirt. “I can’t. I keep telling myself I need to, but then I look into her eyes and I can see how much she’ll hate me when I do. I just keep hoping I’ll find another way out.” He wiped his eyes again. “The thing is, it’s not just her. It’s her kids, too. They’re great. And her brother, too, I guess. I mean, he’s done some stupid stuff and I don’t question for a minute that he needs to take responsibility for his actions, but—”

  “But you’re learning that sometimes the world’s not black and white?”

  “Right is right,” Max reminded her. “Isn’t that what you always told us kids when we were growing up?”

  “I think that’s probably more likely what you heard,” his mother said gently. “If we felt that way, we wouldn’t have listened to both sides of every argument between you and your brothers, would we? Sometimes the hardest decisions are between two rights.”

  Max sat back against the headboard. “Okay…But how does that reconcile with what Dad’s always preaching about duty?”

  “What do I preach?” his father demanded.

  “That duty’s almost sacred. Nothing should come before a man’s duty.”

  His father chuckled. “I’d like to know when you heard me say that. If I recall, the only times I said things like that were to your mother. Alone. Usually late at night when you were supposed to be in bed, and always when I was grappling with a problem I couldn’t see my way out of. Tell me, son. While you were eavesdropping, did you bother listening to what she said?”

  “Your voice is louder than hers,” Max said sheepishly. “Are you saying you don’t feel that way?”

  “Duty’s important, son. I’m not saying that it isn’t. But your mother taught me that other things are important, too.” His father shifted and the familiar sound of his leather chair creaking transported Max across the miles. “It’s easy to shove other things out the window and let duty be your only concern. Putting them all together is the tough part.”

  “Tell me about it.” Max felt better than he had in days. “So how did you finally do it?”

  “Hard work and a whole lot of soul-searching.”

  Max waited for his father to expound, but silence filled the airwaves. “That’s it?” he demanded after a lengthy pause. “That’s the secret to your success? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

  “That’s it, son. You’re going to have to figure out just how you want to deal with it for yourself. If either of us told you what to do, your heart and soul wouldn’t necessarily be behind the decision. And you have to be fully committed, especially on the tough ones.”

  Max dropped his head to his bent knees and groaned softly. In the background, he could hear his mother talking to his father. The sound of their voices blended into a childhood memory, and the intimacy they shared stirred the longing that had been growing steadily since he first set eyes on Reagan.

  When he replaced the receiver a few minutes later, he sat with his head down for a long time while he tried to reconcile the different emotions pulling at him. In the end, his decision was no different from what it had always been.

  He had to tell Reagan the truth and take his chances on the outcome.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  REAGAN CAME HOME from work at lunchtime with a splitting headache. Her argument with Max had left her short-tempered and low on patience. Every phone call she’d taken had grated on her nerves. Every new demand placed on her by her supervisor had left her feeling more and more overwhelmed.

  Why was she letting Max’s opinion bother her so much? He didn’t know Travis. He didn’t know the first thing about their lives or what had brought them to this point. He’d had a perfect childhood with two parents who were always there and two fine, upstanding brothers who’d probably never spent a minute in detention during school.

  He had a hell of a nerve offering an opinion about Travis.

  Although…

  To be honest, Travis’s refusal to discuss his plans was beginning to wear on her. His stubborn silence about what had brought him here was making her edgy. And he did seem to have a supply of money from somewhere. Beer and cigarettes were turning up around the house regularly—and she certainly wasn’t buying them.

  Deep inside, she knew she owed Max an apology. She just didn’t know how to approach him or what to say. She didn’t know how to explain why she got so defensive about Travis, why she excused his behavior time and again and put up with things she wouldn’t have tolerated from anyone else.

  She let herself inside the house and curled her nose at the lingering smell from last night’s disaster. Travis’s dishes from breakfast and lunch littered the counter and table and filled the sink. She started toward her bedroom, pausing at the door to Danielle’s room. She knocked softly and opened the door—and gasped in shock at the sight that greeted her.

  Piles of shoes and clothes covered most of the floor. CD cases, magazines and old school papers filled the blank spots. The bedclothes draped onto the floor and little round nubs of dirty socks dotted its surface.

  Gritting her teeth, Reagan picked her way across the floor toward the open drawers of the dresser. A sharp crack underfoot told her she’d stepped on something plastic buried beneath the clothes—clothes she could have sworn neither of the girls had worn this week.

  When she stubbed her toe against something solid, hard and painful, she decided enough was enough. She was quickly losing control of her home and her family. She couldn’t let things go on the way they had been.

  She found Travis lying on the couch, feet up, one arm extended as he lazily flipped through the channels. His hair looked as if he hadn’t brushed it all day.

  “Turn that off,” she said as she entered the room. “We need to talk.”

  His gaze flicked across her face and returned to the screen. “What about?”

  “About you. About your plans.”

  “I don’t have any.” He fished a potato chip from a bag on the floor and popped it into his mouth. “I’ve told you that already.”

  “Yes, you have. But you need to make some.” Reagan grabbed the remote out of his hand and turned off the set, then shoved his feet from the arm of her couch. “Sit up, Travis. The kids see you lying around all day, dropping clothes on the floor, leaving the bed unmade, and they’re beginning to follow your example.”

  “So? Chill out, sis. A little clutter here and there isn’t the end of the world.”

  “This isn’t just about clutter,” Reagan snapped. “It’s about everything.”

  “It’s about you and Max, isn’t it?” Travis sat up slowly. “You’re upset with him, and you’re taking it out on me. That’s not fair, you know.”

  “What’s not fair,” Reagan said, struggling to control her rising temper, “is that you’ve come here to stay, you claim to have no money to help out with expenses, yet somehow you’re managing to bring beer and cigarettes into the house.”

  “I have a little spending money.”

  “You’re an adult, Travis. Living expenses come first. Or are yo
u expecting me to support you while you spend your money on junk?”

  He mumbled something she couldn’t quite make out.

  “You can’t sleep half the day and trash my house if you’re going to stay here. From now on, I expect you to get up at a reasonable hour and help out around the house.”

  “I’ll help.” Travis smiled his little-boy smile. “Just tell me what to do. I’m not a mind reader, you know.”

  His boyish grin didn’t affect her the way it usually did. “Fine. Get rid of all this garbage you’ve brought into the living room. And then go into the kitchen and clean up what you left in there.”

  “Fine.”

  Reagan waited for him to start working, but he only rolled onto his side. “Now, Travis. Not after you’ve finished watching a rerun of some twenty-year-old show.”

  “Fine.” He sat up again, muttering under his breath.

  His reaction grated across her raw nerves. “Why can’t you make plans? I know you said you were between jobs, but don’t you think it’s about time you found one?”

  “I don’t need to find a job, I’m self-employed. I’m just waiting for the right opportunity to come along.”

  “And it’s going to find you on my couch?” Reagan narrowed her eyes and regarded him carefully. “What is it you do, Travis?”

  He shrugged lazily. “Whatever suits me at the moment.”

  “Give me an example.”

  Travis widened his eyes and tried to look young and injured. “What’s with the third degree? If you’re upset with Max, why don’t you take it out on him?”

  “This is the second time you’ve tried to distract me by bringing Max up,” Reagan said. “That kind of thing used to work on me, but it doesn’t anymore. Why are you here, Travis? And how will you decide when it’s time to leave?”

  “I’ll just know.” He picked up the potato chip sack and nudged an empty soda can with his toe. “If you don’t want me here, just say so. I’ll find somewhere else to hang. No problem.”

  Reagan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So that’s what you’re doing here? Hanging?”

  “Yeah. Sure. I needed a place to…chill.”

  “To chill? From what? A hard day watching television?”

  Travis’s expression shuttered. She knew that look. She’d seen it too many times when he was young and hiding something he’d done wrong. She perched on the arm of the couch and stared at him. “From what, Travis? If you don’t answer my question honestly, I’ll not only let you leave, I’ll help you pack.”

  Tension stiffened his shoulders. “There are some people looking for me, that’s all. I figured this would be a good place to stay until things cool off again.”

  “What people, and why are they looking for you?”

  “It’s nothing,” Travis said, but his gaze darted from his feet to the window to her face and she could see the nervousness in his eyes. “It’s just some stupid trouble I got into in California, that’s all.”

  “What trouble?”

  “The cops say I stole something, and now they’re after me.”

  “The police?” Everything inside Reagan went suddenly, bitterly cold. Her fingers grew numb, and she could almost feel the blood drain from her face. No wonder he’d been so adamant about not telling anyone he was here. “What did you steal?”

  “Nothing.” Travis shot to his feet. “Don’t make a federal case out of it.”

  “Is it a federal case?”

  “No. Hell, Reagan. Chill out, wouldja?” He picked up the empty soda can and started out of the room.

  She jumped to her feet and blocked his path. “Don’t you dare blame me for being upset, Travis. Don’t you dare try to make this my fault. What did you steal?”

  “What makes you so sure I stole anything? What if I’m innocent? Have you even considered that? Or are you going to be like everyone else and find me guilty without even listening to me?”

  Their voices had risen steadily, and his last words bounced back at her from the walls. She took a steadying breath and lowered her voice. “If you’re innocent, why are you hiding?”

  Travis’s lip curled and his eyes flashed with so much anger, it left her cold. “You’re just like Dad, you know that?” He shoved past her into the hallway, throwing the empty can at the wall as he stormed out the door.

  STILL TOO AGITATED to think straight, Reagan walked quickly through the center of town. She’d spent the past two hours scrubbing everything in sight and putting her house back in order. She’d hoped hard work would do the same with her thoughts, but the debate over what to do about Travis still tore her apart. The only thought that came to her with any clarity was that she owed Max an apology. He was right about Travis and about her role in his life. And she’d been too blind to see it. Or too stubborn.

  A few sprinkles of rain hit the sidewalk in front of her. Another landed on her cheek. The sun disappeared beneath a bank of gray clouds that shrouded the tops of the mountains, and a light wind stirred the trees.

  Tugging her sweater closer, she waited for a break in the light traffic, then hurried across the street toward the Wagon Wheel. When she saw Max’s car in the parking lot, she closed her eyes for a moment and tried to find the strength she’d need to face him again.

  She hurried through the few cars in the lot and knocked on his door just as the rain began in earnest. He seemed surprised to see her, but she couldn’t tell whether he was pleased or not. He checked behind her as if he expected to see someone else, and his eyes darkened with curiosity as he turned back to her.

  She spoke before he could say anything, hunching her shoulders against a gust of wind. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” He stepped aside and she slipped past him, trying not to appear overly curious as her eyes roamed the room and took in this rare glimpse into his personality. Just like his car, everything was clean and tidy—clothes folded, bed made, a stack of papers on the small, round table near the window. His brush, comb and a bottle of Cool Water aftershave were lined up neatly in front of the bathroom mirror.

  The frantic beating of her heart left her almost numb. “I came to apologize for our argument last night.”

  He leaned one broad shoulder against the wall and smiled ruefully. “I’m not sure you’re the one who needs to apologize.”

  “Well, I am.” A gust of wind rattled the window behind her, and she was grateful to be safely inside. “I shouldn’t have left the way I did, but I was angry and I don’t think you can accomplish a lot by talking when you’re that upset. The temptation to say things you shouldn’t is too great.”

  “Maybe,” Max said slowly. “But sometimes waiting until the emotion has passed is equally counter-productive. It takes the passion out of the relationship.”

  The look in his eyes threatened to weaken her resolve. She couldn’t read his expression and it disconcerted her. “I guess there are positives and negatives about both. But that doesn’t change the fact that I need to apologize.”

  He pushed away from the wall and closed the distance between them. Taking her shoulders gently, he turned her back to face him. “And so do I. I shouldn’t have said anything about Travis. It really wasn’t my place.”

  “But you were right. That’s why I had to come. I just found out why Travis is here.”

  Something flickered across Max’s face. “Do you mind if I ask why?”

  “He’s in trouble with the law and he’s using my house as a hideout.”

  Did she only imagine the sudden tensing of his shoulders, the tightening of his jaw? “He told you that?”

  She nodded without looking at him.

  “Did he tell you what kind of trouble he’s in?”

  “Only that the police think he stole something.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, needing to see something in his eyes, dreading censure, praying for understanding. “You were right, Max. I’ve coddled him too much and now he thinks he can do whatever he wants and I’ll always be there to fix it for him.”
/>
  Max’s eyes darkened and the corners of his mouth pulled into a frown. “Travis made his decisions. He chose to commit that robbery. He chose to run. You aren’t to blame for any of it.”

  “But I am.” To her dismay, her lip quivered. “If I’d taught him to accept responsibility a long time ago, maybe he wouldn’t have gone this far.”

  Max watched her for a moment, then pulled her close and cradled her against his chest. “You aren’t responsible for the entire world, Reagan—no matter what you thought when you were a kid. It isn’t your job to carry everyone you love on your shoulders.”

  The deep rumble of his voice against her ear and cheek moved her to tears. Across the room, the heater kicked on and warm air radiated around them.

  It had been so long since anyone held her when things went wrong, so long since anyone allowed her to be weak—even for a moment. She swallowed thickly against the lump that suddenly filled her throat and tried to take a deep breath.

  Max pulled back to look at her, then cupped her head with his huge, warm hand and pulled her against him once more. “Reagan. You’ve had to be tough for a long time, haven’t you? It’s okay, sweetheart. You can let go now. There’s nobody to see but me.” He brushed a kiss to the top of her head and whispered, “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

  She tried to laugh, but it came out sounding like a sob instead. His hands moved across her back, kneading, smoothing, relaxing her. “I’m not tough,” she said when she could talk again. “I’m frightened to death half the time.”

  “I have news for you, sweetheart. There’s nothing tough about not being afraid. Strength is when you do what has to be done even when you’re afraid. And you—” he broke off to kiss her lips lightly “—are the best kind of tough. You’re still plenty soft where it counts.”

  She stood on tiptoe to kiss him back and tried not to think about how much she’d miss him when he was gone. She had enough on her mind without that. “I was feeling so horrible when I came in. How is it that you’ve already made me feel better?”

  “Because you know I’m telling you the truth.”