by Vicki Tharp
Right. Temporary gig.
In a short time, she’d come to take his being there for granted. Like him cooking her breakfast in the morning if she made it over to his trailer after his morning shoots.
That he’d be there in the alley when she and Panache galloped by after one of her runs.
That he’d meet her at her stall after the rodeo with a beer and a helping hand.
That they’d hang out at his trailer until all hours of the night as he developed his best photos of the day.
She waggled her fingers for his camera. “My turn.”
For a second, she thought he wouldn’t give it up, then a slow smile spread across his face. “This should be interesting.”
She brought the viewer to her eye and twisted him into focus, liking the way the sun glinted off the red highlights in his dark stubble, how the life shined in his eyes, how his amusement turned his lips just so. She pressed the shutter and in that flash of a moment, he stuck his tongue out at her.
“Hey! You messed up my shot. Now I’ve only got one left.”
“No one wants to see pictures of me.”
“I do.” The honest response was out before she had a chance to sensor it. Then she decided she wouldn’t have censored her words if she could, because unless the people judging the contest were blind idiots, he would be leaving, and taking his friendship with him.
It’s not just his friendship you will miss.
Okay. She’d miss him, too. There wasn’t any shame in admitting that. When she went to take his picture again, he covered the lens with his hand. “Seriously,” he said.
The light dimmed in his eyes. She couldn’t tell if it was from a demon from his past or the cloud passing in front of the sun.
“Don’t tell me the photographer is camera shy.”
“I just prefer being behind the lens.” His tone came out even, but unnaturally so, as if he had to work at it to make it sound normal.
“Why do I get the feeling there’s a story there?”
He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck before finally meeting her gaze. “My mother took a picture of me right before she died. Before I knew the world could be such a dark place. I still have the negative, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to print it yet.”
“I’m so sor—” she started to apologize, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.
“It’s silly really.” He had to clear his throat to continue. “It was a long time ago.”
For an inexplicable reason it became important to have a picture of him. If he was going to disappear from her life, she needed something to remember the man who was slowly making her see a world beyond barrel racing and rodeos and nights on the town and remember the friendship that was coming to mean so much to her.
She lowered the camera. “Will you take one with me?”
With his hands on his hips, he stared at the ground before answering. “Don’t you have a horse to feed?”
“Panache always thinks he’s starving. I’m pretty sure two minutes one way or the other isn’t going to kill him.”
Just when Cora was convinced he’d say no, he said, “Sure, why not?” His words lacked any real enthusiasm, but she’d take what she could get.
Using the tripod, Ian got the camera ready, set the timer, then dashed back around in front of the lens. He put his arm around her waist and she turned toward him and draped her hands on his shoulder and smiled at the camera.
The light on the body of the camera blinked faster and at the last second, she turned toward him and planted a kiss on his cheek.
7
“I’m sorry I kissed you,” Cora said, breaking the awkward silence as Ian drove them back to the rodeo grounds. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I know you’re not interested.”
“It’s not that.” The words were out before he could stop them. She stilled beside him. When would he learn to keep his mouth shut? He didn’t want to give her any false hope that they could ever be anything other than friends. Even if at times he’d wished for more.
She plucked his hat off her head. “If this is the it’s not you it’s me speech, don’t bother.”
They had their windows down, the mild winter wind buffeting the interior and whipping the wisps of hair that had come free of her ponytail.
“It’s the timing is bad, I wish things were different, but they’re not, speech.”
“Yeah, because that’s so much better.”
Cora fiddled with the brim of his cap. It had the perfect curve to it that he’d perfected over years of wear, and she unwittingly mangled it.
But her wear and tear on his heart? Even more damaging and not as easy to fix. Why did he always want what he couldn’t have?
He turned into the parking lot of the rodeo grounds and headed around to the backside of the arena where all the trailers were parked. “Look, my focus is on my career, and I don’t like starting things I can’t finish. We agreed to be just friends. I think it’s best if our relationship stays that way.”
Yeah, just keep telling yourself that buddy. Is that why you’ve been running around all morning with a semi hard-on in your pants? Because you think it’s best if you two stayed friends?
Stupid thing was, he’d only gotten harder since that kiss, thanks to his dick’s overactive imagination. He could have understood his body’s reaction if she’d shoved her tongue down his throat and they did the tonsil tango. But all it had been was a chaste peck on the cheek.
“Oh shit.” Something in Cora’s voice made him glance over at her. The color had leached from her face and her hand gripped the door latch. For a second, he feared she’d throw herself out of the rolling truck.
He slowed and followed her gaze. At the door of her trailer stood a thin man with a clean-shaven face, a shock of gray hair, and a clerical collar around his neck.
By the scowl on the man’s face, and the way he pounded on the door of the trailer with the meat of his fist, Ian knew that if he walked in on the man’s sermons it would be all fire and brimstone, hell and wrath, devil and doom, not peace and love and forgiveness.
“Stop,” Cora said. “Stop right here.”
Ian stomped on the brakes and the truck lurched to a stop. Ian stared out the windshield. The man’s gaze brushed past Ian’s truck. “Who is it?”
“I-It’s my father.”
He waited a beat, then two as that declaration sank in.
“Park over there.” Cora pointed over to their right where an outbuilding would block his truck from view.
He did what she asked, then cut the engine. They sat in near silence, the rasp of her breath the only sound. With exaggerated care, she laid his hat on the seat between them and dried her hands on the legs of her jeans.
Clearly, she didn’t want to be seen driving up with him, but when she popped her door latch, Ian reached for his. No way he’d let her face her father without him there. Especially since he had a good suspicion the man had shown up at her trailer because of him and that damn picture of her he’d sold to the El Paso Tribune.
“Don’t,” she said as he went to get out of his truck. “If he sees you, it will only make it worse. Trust me on this. I need to do this alone.”
“I should be there. It’s my fault. I can expl—”
She placed her hand on his. “You had no way of knowing. This isn’t your fault. This has been a long time coming. The photo just gave him an excuse to come now.”
“I’m responsible. This is my mess. I should clean it up.”
“No. This is on me. You didn’t pour those drinks down my throat or lift me on top of those tables. It wasn’t the first time.”
Then she got this smile, an intoxicating mix of sass and devil-may-care that almost had him reaching for her and pulling her in for a real kiss. Which wouldn’t solve anything. Especially not the riot in his head nor the hard-on in his pants.
“If truth be told,” she said, “it probably won’t be the last time either.”
She slid
out of his truck as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Had she really expected him to sit there and let her take all the heat?
Ian slipped out of the truck and shouldered his camera bag, closing the door quietly behind him. He had to respect that she didn’t want him there when she confronted her father, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be there for her if she needed him.
From the back side of the outbuilding, he cut his way under the bleacher stands and came out near some of the chutes that fed into the arena. This time of day, the chutes were empty of animals and most people. Ian set his tripod up with his telephoto lens and aimed it at Cora and her father. With most of his body behind a support column, Ian wouldn’t be visible from this distance unless someone looked carefully.
Besides, it couldn’t really be called eavesdropping when the voices didn’t carry the distance. Could it?
Through his viewfinder, Ian watched Cora. She’d stopped behind one of the dumpsters, bent over, hands on her knees. He almost dropped everything and went to her, but then she straightened and approached her father. Her steps faltered at first, then as she got closer, her shoulders went back, her chin went up, and she strode forward with grace and purpose. That’s his girl.
His girl?
Not hardly.
But if things were different...
“Hey, Murph,” Smokey Dunn, one of the team ropers who had given him a hard time called out from behind him, using the shortened version of his last name as if they were friends. For the record, when someone tried to beat the gay out of you, you were not friends.
Ian’s heart kicked in his chest, not from fear, but from anticipation. He’d like to take that asshole on, man to man, without a group of his buddies to back him up, and see how well Dunn fared. News flash...it would be a hell of a lot worse than the last time.
Ian turned to face Dunn. “What do you want?”
Instead of the sneer Ian had come to expect from the roper, the man had a sheepish smile. Dunn removed his cowboy hat and wiped the sweat from his brow before replacing it, a nervous gesture since it wasn’t particularly warm out, especially there under the stands.
“I came to offer you an apology,” Dunn said, his hand outstretched.
Ian ignored the proffered hand. Even though he didn’t need the bigot’s apology, and he wanted to turn his focus back to Cora and her father, Ian found himself saying, “For what? The name calling? The shoving? The kidney punch?”
Dunn dropped his hand. “All of it. Look, man, me and the boys...we were assholes. Simple as that. You’re an all right guy.”
“Why the change of heart?”
“A couple of Silas’s buddies set us right. We didn’t know you was really straight.”
“I don’t know if it bothers me more that you and your goons hated me because you thought I was gay, or that you think I’m all right now that the news has started to get around that I’m straight. You are a perfect example that a man’s character isn’t determined by where he puts his dick.”
Dunn had the decency to look chagrined. He glanced away, then back again. “So, we good?”
They were a long way from good, but Ian had more important things to worry about other than Dunn’s homophobia. “Sure.”
Dunn tipped his hat and walked away. Ian returned his attention to Cora at the opposite end of his lens. He twisted her into better focus, zooming in on her face, on the hot mix of emotions.
More than simple anger. Her expression ran the gamut from fear, disappointment, regret, determination, steadfastness, all tumbled together with a child’s unfailing need for their parents’ approval. He recognized it because he’d seen that need staring back at him in the mirror more times than he’d like to admit.
His shutter clicked before he’d even realized he’d reached for the shutter release button. Then in a blur, she disappeared from the frame. Ian stood and watched as her father dragged her toward a boat-sized metallic-red Cadillac. New and shiny. A seventy-two or seventy-three model. Her father tore open the passenger door. Cora kicked it closed and wrenched her arm free.
Ian had closed half the distance between him and the car before he’d realized he’d made the decision to help. Their raised voices carried over the chug of a tractor as it brought a bucket full of dirty shavings out of the barn.
“I’m not going home, Father,” Cora said. “This is my life. This is where I belong.”
“I will not have my daughter make a fool out of me and her mother. You are the laughing stock of the whole congregation. How can I be expected to be a shepherd for my people when I can’t even control my own daughter?”
Cora laughed, but disgust beat out any humor. “Your congregation. All my life I’ve had to live up to not only your expectations, but the congregation’s as well. No one can measure up to that, no matter how perfect they are.”
“You never even tried.”
“I tried. God knows, I tried.”
Her father reopened the passenger door. “Get in. I’m not asking again.”
Cora’s gaze shifted from the car to her father and back again. Was she seriously contemplating going with him? What about her barrel racing? Her horse. Her friends. Him?
So, it’s okay for you to leave her, but not okay for her to leave you? Is that it?
Ian refused to answer that. All he knew was he couldn’t let her get in that car. He increased his pace, almost breaking into a run. That’s when she glanced up and saw him coming. She shook her head. Was that for him or her father?
Ian slowed. Stopped.
Cora took a step back and asked her father, “Is that a promise?”
Her father closed the distance between them. “Cora.”
Cora’s face started to fall as she slowly backed away. “Goodbye, Father. Tell Mom I love her.”
Then she turned and ran toward the barn. Ian followed, grabbing up his gear along the way. She may not want to see him, but he wanted her to know he was there if she needed him.
* * *
Panache munched away on his pellets and Cora shoved more hay into his hay bag, as the tears of anger and frustration and futility ran down her cheeks. She swiped at them with the heels of her hands, her anger growing with each tear shed.
That her father’s disappointment in her could still affect her like that, after all these years, only made her feel worse. She was an adult. She could live her life the way she wanted, she didn’t need his approval or blessing.
Grabbing the manure fork and wheel barrow, she started cleaning Panache’s stall, concentrating on the burn in the muscles of her arms, shoulders, and back as she shoveled soiled shavings. The manure landed in the metal wheel barrow with soft thuds.
The slow, steady munching of hay, and the nickers of horses in nearby stalls as their owners brought them feed and hay soothed her emotional jagged edges. This argument with her father wasn’t anything new, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and even before she glanced up, she knew who stood by the stall door. Ian. He leaned against the stall entrance, one foot crossed over the other. With his long, lean, athletic body, Ian looked good in boots and Wranglers. He’d rolled the sleeves of his blue western shirt up his forearms. The only thing missing was his cowboy hat.
A zing of awareness heated her chest and skipped along her nerves until her fingertips and girly bits buzzed. She seriously needed to rethink her I-only-date-cowboys rule.
“You okay?” he asked.
Leaning on her manure fork she said, “Would you believe me if I said yes?”
“Nope.”
She went back to the stall cleaning, working extra hard on the stubborn pee spot in the middle. “How much did you hear.”
“Enough.” Taking the manure fork and setting it aside, Ian rolled the wheel barrow into the aisle. “Enough to know your father is an absolute ass. Enough to know you didn’t deserve anything he dished out.”
Panache left his feed long enough to suck down h
alf of the water in his bucket. If her horse missed her crying in his mane, he didn’t say. If truth be told, Panache probably appreciated having Ian as backup. She suspected her emotional, roller coaster life might be more than one horse could handle.
“It’s nothing new. In fact, my father should probably thank me. I can’t tell you the number of sermons I’ve inspired over the years. All the sideways glances from the congregation during services made it perfectly clear they knew where he’d gotten his ideas.”
“He had no right to drag your mistakes out in front of all your friends and neighbors and make you his ceremonial whipping girl.”
At the time, she hadn’t seen it that way. It had just been her life. Though living under her town’s microscope had made her twitchy the older she got. The scrutiny should have made her watch her step, but Cora wasn’t wired that way. If nothing else, she’d been a cautionary tale for the town’s kids.
Still, that didn’t explain why her heart sat so heavy in her chest, or why her eyes stung with tears that threatened to fall again. She wasn’t naive enough to think her parents would agree with everything she’d ever done, but of all the things her parents had taught her, the right from wrong, the good from evil, the sinner from the saint, the lesson that had stuck with her the most had become the truest of them all…love was conditional.
“Damn it.” She swiped at her cheeks. Stupid tears.
“Oh, baby.” The soft, soothing way his words came out felt like a balm on her chaffed emotions. He took her face in his hands and smoothed away the wetness with his thumbs. “Nobody deserves to be treated like that. Especially a heart as sweet and genuine as yours.”
Despite all her efforts, a sob escaped, and Ian gathered her in his arms and held her tight through the worst of the crying. He soothed her with words that she felt more than heard, his hands gentle as they stroked her hair and held her head to his chest, his heart beating strong and steady and true.
By the time she’d finished blubbering, his shirt was damp, and her temples throbbed with the beginnings of a headache. She needed to get her mind off her father. “Tell me about your family.”