by Vicki Tharp
“I’m going to miss this,” she said.
‘Me, too’ perched on his lips. Only a half truth. He’d miss making love with her, but not only that, he’d miss her and the fun they’d had together. The way they shared their lives, their failures, their successes. He didn’t want to leave her with just that. He wanted to leave her with the full truth.
Into her ear, he whispered, “I love you Cora Hayes. If I could stay—”
“Shhh.” She laid her hand over the one he had splayed across her abdomen and directed his hand between her thighs. “Again,” was all she said.
Retrieving the other condom, he put it on and he eased in from behind, taking it slow this time, knowing this memory might have to last a lifetime.
15
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
The cabbie blew his horn for Ian, and Cora went to sit up.
“Stay there,” Ian said. He opened the trailer door long enough to hold up a hand to let the cab driver know he’d be a minute. Then he came back and sat on the edge of the bed where Cora lay tucked beneath his covers.
He rubbed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got the address I gave you for the unit we’ll be embedded with?”
“I do.”
“I don’t know how well the mail system works over there, but I’ll write when I can and send them to Josephine’s father’s ranch. Since your father doesn’t approve, I don’t know how else to get letters to you. You’re never in the same place for more than a weekend.”
“We can only do what we can.” Cora forced the optimism into her voice, no way was she sending Ian away with tears. That’s not how she wanted him to remember her.
But damn...it hurt, and those tears would fall, but at least he wouldn’t be there to witness them.
Ian cleared his throat. “Do you regret it?”
It. Them.
Her throat spasmed. Before it completely closed up, she managed. “Not for a second.”
He smiled down at her, sad, proud. “That’s my girl.”
Outside, the horn honked again. Cora tried to get up, but Ian’s gentle hand on her shoulder held her down. “I want to walk you out.”
He brushed the hair out of her face. “Stay.” Pressing a kiss to her lips he added, “I want to remember you here in my bed.”
Cora choked on a laugh. “Fair enough.”
Again, the horn.
“I gotta go.” He laid a lingering kiss on her forehead, his thumb brushing her cheek.
Going to the table, he shouldered his bags and opened the door. Looking back one last time, his smile somber when he said, “Stay safe, and in case I never get to see you again—” His voice cracked. When he spoke again, it came out soft. “Have a good life, Cora Hayes.”
Then he stepped through the door.
Gone.
Cora lay in his bed, surrounded by his scent, by the smell of the sex they’d shared and waited for the tears to flow. Somehow, they didn’t fall, even though the searing pain in the middle of her chest where her heart used to be felt like one of the bulls had used her for target practice.
All she wanted was to stay and wallow, but as she glanced at the clock above his kitchen table, she knew she had to rush if she were to get showered, dressed, and have Panache tacked up in time for their run.
She could wallow all she wanted later.
A couple hours later, Cora and Panache waited near the alley for their chance to run. For a Sunday night, the rodeo crowd in the bleachers was light. The bad weather with the threat of sleet and possibly snow kept many of the fair-weather Texas fans tucked away in their warm houses where they could catch the action on television.
Josephine and Comet trotted over after spending time in the warm-up arena. From head to toe, Josephine had decked herself out in her riding best. From her hat to her sparkly shirt, to the shine on her new boots. Even under the harsh lights beneath the stands, Comet’s coat shined, his thick muscles flexing and contracting with each step.
“You don’t look so good.” Josephine said when she pulled Comet to a stop beside her.
Panache and Comet nuzzled noses. They were as close of friends as she and Josephine were.
Cora huffed a laugh. “That’s a couple steps up from the way I feel.” Then her eyes got watery, and she swiped at her cheeks, a streak of black mascara coming off with her finger. Why couldn’t she have cried before she had her makeup on? “Jesus, what a mess.”
Josephine handed her a red bandanna. “Keep it. I have a feeling you might be needing it.”
Cora dabbed at her eyes. “He told me he loved me.”
“Good thing he left then, I know you never wanted—” Josephine cut herself off. Cora couldn’t keep the pain and heartache off her face. She’d thought if she told herself that his leaving was for the best, that she hadn’t been looking for anything serious, all those things meant to bury the truth and the hurt, that those lies would make his leaving easier.
Guess what? It didn’t.
“Holy, shiiiit,” Josephine said, drawing the word out as the realization struck. “You love him, too.”
Cora nodded. The announcer called a number and a barrel racer trotted by them on their way to the arena.
“He left, even knowing—”
“I didn’t tell him.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Josephine cried out. Heads turned. Josephine either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She also didn’t lower her voice. “You may never see this guy again, and you let him leave without knowing how you felt?”
“He said he knew. Said I didn’t have to say it.” The excuse sounded weaker out loud than it had in her head. “He has his own dreams, his own plans. I didn’t want to screw that up.”
“Have you thought that maybe if you had given him a reason to want to change his plans, that he might have?”
Cora glanced around, people still watched and stared, though at this point in her life, she had a hard time caring. “I wanted to protect him.”
“Bullshit.”
That’s one of the things that Cora loved about being friends with Josephine. Josephine wasn’t afraid to call her out. “If you told him you loved him, he might have chosen to stay.”
“But what if chose not to?”
“Oh, honey,” Josephine’s face softened. Then the announcer called Josephine’s number.
Josephine said, as she gave Comet a soft kick, “The Cora I know isn’t usually a coward.”
Josephine kicked Comet into a trot and then sent him into a gallop as they tore down the alley for the arena, leaving Cora to stew in Josephine’s parting words.
Coward.
An ugly word. A true word. Had she let him go, afraid of how badly she’d hurt if he knew she loved him, and he still didn’t want to stay? She couldn’t imagine the pain in her chest hurting any less than it did right now. If she were going to lose Ian, she didn’t want to regret losing him because she’d feared telling him the truth.
Comet and Josephine came back from their run, to a round of applause and shouts from the crowd. They trotted back over to her.
“That’s you,” Josephine said. “They called your number.”
Cora glanced at her watch. There was still an hour before Ian had to board his plane.
“Cora.” Josephine pointed at the arena. “They called your number again. You gotta go.”
You gotta go.
Cora swung down, tossing Josephine her reins. “Keys. I need your keys.”
Smiling, Josephine dug her keys from her pocket. “Where you going?” As if she didn’t already know.
“To tell Ian I love him.”
* * *
Ian sat in the bar near his departure gate nursing a whiskey and watching the rodeo finals on television, waiting for one last chance to see Cora and Panache dash into the arena and do what they do best.
All his life, he’d never realized he had a masochistic side.
When he’d pictured this moment in his head, where he’d start his ad
venturous life of photojournalism by seeing the world, he hadn’t expected to not want to go. Now, not only did he not want to go, but he dreaded going.
The fact that the assignment could be dangerous didn’t even factor in. It all boiled down to one word. Or rather, one person...Cora.
He took another sip of whiskey. Four more riders until Cora came on. The definition of insanity had a picture of him at the bar trying to sneak one last look at the woman he loved.
Get up. Get up now. Leave. Watching her ride won’t make getting on that plane and on with your life any easier.
He tossed back the last of his whiskey, grimacing as it burned a trail down the back of his esophagus. Slapping cash on the bar, he turned to leave as Josephine and Comet ran into the arena heading for the first barrel, coming in too hot and tight, brushing against the first barrel.
Ian turned and started walking out, not waiting to see if the barrel fell. See? He could do this. Cora got what she’d wanted. A fling. A distraction. Ian had been the novelty. Not the norm.
Going in, he’d known that Cora had no intention of settling down anytime soon, and when she did, it wouldn’t be with a vagabond photographer, it would be with a cowboy who lived in her world.
He glanced down at his cowboy boots, that somehow felt more natural now than loafers, work boots, or tennis shoes. As much as the rodeo scene had started to feel like home, he had to remember the reality—he’d only been a city slicker on a hall pass in a cowboy town.
On the television, the announcer called out Cora’s name. Ian stopped before stepping out into the terminal. Keep walking, idiot. Idiot that he was, Ian didn’t walk, but he didn’t turn around either. He waited for the familiar cheers from the crowd, the hoots and hollers and foot stomping.
Nothing came. The announcer called her name and number again.
He turned, and on mutinous feet, Ian somehow ended up back at the bar, staring up at the television, the camera focused on the alley.
No Cora. No Panache. What the hell?
The announcer switched to the next competitor, and the race went on with little additional comment. Missing your run wasn’t unheard of. It happened occasionally for whatever reason—rider distraction, horse lameness, or any other number of reasons.
However, this was the final run. Cora wouldn’t miss a chance at a check without a good reason. Had something happened to Cora? The hairs pricked on his neck and he tried to rub the feeling away. Hines had been captured and jailed and with no one willing to pay his bail, not likely to get out any time soon. Still, that heightened sense of awareness they’d all lived under until Hines had been caught left a residual unease.
On the way to the gate, he passed a bank of pay phones, then u-turned back, shaking a handful of coins from his pocket. He got the number for the rodeo office from the operator and deposited his money.
The phone rang and rang. Ian leaned back against the wall and stared out at the snow falling through the beam of the airport’s exterior lights. If his flight didn’t leave soon, he might not make it out of there that night and he’d miss his military connection in the morning.
After about the twentieth ring, he hung up. He tried twice more before the airlines started boarding his flight. He checked his watch. With a few minutes to spare before the doors closed he tried one last time, the ringing, unanswered phone almost mocking him.
The attendant at the counter waved at him, and called out, “Last call, Mr. Murphy.”
“Coming.” Ian hung up the phone.
For one crazy moment, he considered catching a cab back to the rodeo grounds, but the snow had started falling faster, big, thick, fluffy flakes. He’d be lucky to find anyone willing to drive him in that mess.
She managed before you. She’ll manage without you. Her rodeo family will keep her safe.
Maybe.
Walking to the gate, he gave himself permission to call the rodeo office again when he landed, to check up on her. The decision made him feel marginally better.
He handed the lady his ticket and she tore off his stub and handed it back to him.
As he walked down the gangway, he thought he heard Cora call out his name. He paused, then continued. That’s how much she’d messed up his mind. He thought back to earlier that day, when he’d had her beneath him.
“I...I—”
Ian had broken the kiss, and she hadn’t been able to meet his eyes, knowing how she felt. She didn’t want a relationship. He got that. Accepted that on some level. He just hadn’t wanted it pounded into his head the last few hours they had together. He’d wanted to let them both off the hook when he’d said, “I know. You don’t have to say it.”
He glanced behind him, and watched as the ticket agent closed the door, the latch clicking, a hard, hollow sound.
“Sir, I need you to find your seat,” the stewardess standing just inside the plane said.
Ian trudged down the aisle, finding his seat. He settled in and buckled up. As the snow continued to fall, and his battered and bruised heart continued to beat in his chest, he wondered if agreeing to have sex with Cora had been the biggest mistake of his life.
Sex with someone you barely knew always carried a risk.
Pregnancy. Disease. He’d done his best to protect himself.
Too bad a prophylactic didn’t protect against a broken heart.
* * *
“Come on, come on, come on,” Cora yelled at the ribbon of traffic slowed by the falling snow. As rare as snow was in that part of Texas, it didn’t take more than a couple of flakes to shut the whole state down. “Get out of the way.”
With only one more mile until the airport exit, the snow storm continued to strengthen. She pounded her fist on the steering wheel and honked. Neither would make the cars in front of her move any faster, she knew that, but at least it felt like she was doing something.
She just needed a minute with Ian, so she pressed on, knowing the likelihood of road and airport closure increased by the minute. In fact, airport closure was something she hoped for. Maybe then her delay would give her the time she needed to tell Ian she loved him.
And the time to tell him she’d wait for him if he wanted her too.
After more yelling, fist pounding, and unfounded honking, she pulled into a parking spot and made a dash for the terminal, her boots slipping and sliding in the snow. The wind cut through her thin western shirt, and her spurs tink, tinked as she ran.
For the second time in a week, she felt like she was on the run of her life, only this time she was running toward something good, not away from something bad.
Quickly scanning the departure information board, she ran to Ian’s gate, catching sight of him as he walked through the open door to the gangway. She shoved off on her right foot, trying for more speed, but the wet, slick soles of her boots slipped on the linoleum and she fell head first.
“Ian!” She called out as her body slid to a stop.
Hands grabbed her and helped her to her feet. “You okay, ma’am?” the young man asked.
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
Not wasting any time, she ran toward the gate. “No, no, no,” she said as the lady started closing the door to the gangway. “Wait. Please.”
The door latched closed and the lady turned to her.
“Please,” Cora said, “I just need one second. If I could—”
“Ma’am. You’re too late. I’m sorry.”
Cora’s lungs bellowed as she tried to suck in air. She really needed to do what Ian did and take up running. “You’re sorry.”
The lady gave her a funny look, glancing to a coworker as if to say, ‘you going to back me up when this lady gets crazy?’
But Cora didn’t feel crazy. Just defeated.
And as the television news reporter came on and announced freeway closures, stranded.
* * *
Over three months later, Ian tried not to feel dejected and rejected, but after not hearing a word from Cora, and then nothing from his aunt who’d
offered to call names on the list of potential fathers, it seemed like he lived his life—between skirmishes and fire fights the platoon they were embedded with got into—in mail limbo.
“No mail,” Ian said as he flopped down on a cot in a tent he shared with mentor, idol, famed photographer, and now a man he could call a begrudging friend, Edward Lark.
Ed glanced up from his typewriter and grunted. The man had proved more eloquent as a photojournalist than he had as a bunk mate.
Inside the tent, outside a village the Viet Cong had mowed through, temperatures remained hot and steamy. Hot and steamy seemed the norm except when it rained. Then everything was wet, hot, and steamy. At least in the tent, the mosquitoes had a harder time devouring him.
He’d come to accept the permanent layer of dirt and sweat that never left his body even after a rare shower. If he stayed until the US pulled out of the country, which they’d heard rumors of for a while, his nose would probably be immune to the stench of open hole latrines, unwashed bodies, and death.
“Forget that girl back home. Plenty of locals who’d be happy to jump on your star-spangled, red, white, and blue dick—”
Ian nailed Ed with his pillow. Ed let it bounce off and kept on typing.
“Cora. Her name is Cora.”
Ed grunted again. The man knew Cora’s name. Refused to use it for some damn reason.
“I’ve given up on hearing from her if that makes you happy. I’m expecting a letter from my aunt.” Ian heard the petulance in his voice, but damn if he gave two shakes of a rat’s ass.
The typewriter dinged when Ed hit the return and then yanked the paper out. Ian lay with his arm over his eyes breathing in air thicker than pea soup. Here he’d thought the humidity in Texas had been bad.
Off to his right, Ian heard the tinkling of tin cups and the sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle.
Ed booted one of the legs of Ian’s cot hard enough to make Ian sit up. “Here, take it,” the man said.