She’s Gone Country

by Jane Porter; Jane Porter

  He’s done this for weeks now, come in here alone to practice ride, since no one else shares his enthusiasm for bull riding. He needs real stock to ride. He needs a real teacher now. But it can’t be Dane. There’s too much tension between my brothers and Dane. Maybe one day they’ll be able to work through the hard feelings, but for now, it’s too soon after Cody’s death.

  Back at the house, I sit at the computer in the kitchen to Google bull-riding instructors in Texas. And the very first name that pops up is none other than Dane Kelly.

  My fingers itch to click on the link to his website, but I don’t. I refuse to be tempted. Dane broke my heart once, and he may be single again, but there’s no way I’m going to let him get close enough to do it a second time.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, I arrive at the newly built guesthouse on the McCurdy ranch just before eight-thirty and discover Blue already behind the desk inside the rustic great room.

  Soft yellow sunlight dapples the limestone floor, and the house smells of freshly brewed coffee. The guesthouse, a two-story stone-and-log cabin with a vaulted ceiling, now serves as the office and ranch’s welcome center, but Blue will one day convert it into a luxury residence to sell once the other home sites are gone.

  Blue hangs up the phone as I walk in. “That was Brick. He’s got the horses and is almost here. Will you give him a hand when he arrives?”

  “Sure.” I drop into one of the brown-and-white cowhide chairs facing his desk and stretch my legs out. “Are these horses for the photo shoot or the trail rides?”

  “Both. Brick’s hitched the big trailer to his truck, so he should have six or seven horses. He thought we’d want to use Sunny and Dandy for the shoot, and the others for the trail ride.”

  “Who’s leading the trail rides?”

  Blue squirms ever so slightly. “Brick.”

  “What?” Brick is not a trail guide sort of guy or the face of Texas tourism. “How did you get him to do that?”

  “I promised him my tickets for the Cowboy-Giants game coming up in December.”

  “That’s a big game this year.”

  Blue looks miserable. “I know. But I needed the help.”

  I’m still grinning when the Dallas photographer walks in, carrying a camera bag over one shoulder and a duffel bag of gear on the other. He looks familiar, and I wonder if maybe we’ve worked together in the past.

  Blue gets up from the desk and crosses the floor to shake the photographer’s hand. “Glad you made it, Mason. Looks like we’re going to have a gorgeous day for pictures, too.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” the photographer answers before turning to me.

  I’m still trying to place him, but he has no problem remembering me. “Shey Darcy,” he says with a smile.

  I rise from my chair, smile through my embarrassment. “I should know you. We’ve worked together, haven’t we?”

  “Not yet, no.”

  My forehead furrows as I try to figure out the mystery. “You’re a photographer, though. And you know me.”

  “And I know your husband.”

  This feels awkward to me. “Give me a hint. Name the last time I saw you.”

  Mason smiles. “It was a party.”

  “A party?”

  “I approached you, paid you a compliment, and then John walked up—”

  “The Vanity Fair party!” I clap my hands. “You remembered me as a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model.”

  “Not knowing you were John’s wife,” he concludes. “John was pretty pissed off.”

  “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

  “Just that you were my favorite SI model of all time.”

  Embarrassed, I shake my head, even as I’m suddenly aware that Blue is right next to me, hanging on every word. “You didn’t tell me that,” I protest.

  “No, but it’s true.”

  I can feel my cheeks grow hotter. “Well, thank you. I’m a lot older and look—”

  “Exactly the same.”

  Blue looks from me to Mason and back. “So you already know each other?”

  Mason gives me a smile that’s definitely appreciative. “I’m a fan of hers, and I had no idea when you told me I’d be working with ‘my sister, a former model,’ that you were referring to the unbelievably hot, unbelievably gorgeous Shey Darcy.” Then he turns back to me. “So how is John? Haven’t talked to him since I moved back to Dallas.”

  I suddenly don’t want to do this—be single, available, back on the market. I have too much going on, too much at stake. “He’s good. Busy in New York, but that’s John.”

  “So you haven’t moved back to Texas?” Mason asks, disappointed.

  I force a smile, ignore Blue. “Just visiting. Helping my brother out.” And then I gesture to his camera bag and duffel bag of gear. “So what’s the plan for this morning? Where are we shooting first?”

  Mason takes the bait, begins to talk about our various shots and locations. Then, while he goes to set up his equipment, I retrieve my wardrobe changes from the truck.

  Blue’s waiting for me on my return. “Why didn’t you tell him about John? You made it sound like you and he were still together.”

  “I know.”

  “Mason’s single, and successful, and obviously attracted to you.”

  “Too attracted.”

  “I thought he was being really nice.”

  “Then you flirt with him, but I’m not comfortable.”

  Blue just looks more bewildered, and I sigh. “Blue, I’m not the SI swimsuit model. Not the hot bod, calendar girl, or fantasy girl. That’s just not me.”

  “What do you mean, it’s not you? It is you. And I know I’m your brother, but you’re beautiful and men are going to think you’re beautiful—”

  “But that’s not how I see myself.”

  He’s genuinely confused. “Why not?”

  I see myself in my mind’s eye, and I’m not the Shey Darcy of my modeling portfolio, or the Shey Darcy of Oxygen’s Model in the Making show. I’m not smooth and taut, airbrushed and well lit. “Blue, I’m a mom. Hank, Bo, and Cooper’s Mom. That’s who I am. And that’s all I need to be.”

  Mason’s flattery may have made me nervous, but his skill as a photographer is immediately apparent as we start working.

  I like his locations and love his lighting, and when he shows me what he’s getting with the digital camera, I relax, realizing that Blue’s going to end up with great pictures for his brochure and website.

  The morning passes quickly, and when we break for lunch, I’m amazed that it’s been four hours since we started shooting. Back at the guesthouse, I devour my chicken salad as Mason and Blue tuck into barbecue plates. A phone call pulls Blue away, and Mason and I discuss the afternoon shoot, which includes Brick. I’ve enjoyed working with Mason, and I’m reminded all over again how important work is to me and how much I need work, need a focus other than my marriage and kids.

  The afternoon shoot with Brick is even more fun. We do the fishing and horseback-riding shots first, saving the couple shots for the very end. None of the “romance” shots will require kissing, but it’s still awkward walking hand in hand with my brother and smiling up at him as if he’s some lost love. “This is really weird, you know,” I say to him, smiling to hide my gritted teeth.

  “Let’s just hope no one we know sees these,” he answers.

  The sun’s just setting, painting the sky gorgeous, vivid layers of red and gold. It’s perfect lighting for the romance shots. “You should have dragged Charlotte here,” I add. “There’s no reason she couldn’t have done these pics with you.”

  “Or Dane with you,” he retorts.

  “Shut up. You’re so juvenile.”

  “Me? I’m not the one who wanted to run away with him—”

  “I never tried to run away with him—”

  “Because we wouldn’t let you!”

  I swing around to face him. “What’s this ‘we’ stuff? Mama and P
op sent me away, not you.”

  “You don’t think I pulled Mama and Pop aside, told them you were sneaking out at night, chasing him all over the place?”

  “Dane and I had a month of dates—that’s it.”

  “But you were sneaking out at night.” Totally unrepentant, he stares down at me. “I let Dane know that if he so much as laid a hand on you, I’d tear him apart limb from limb—”

  “You didn’t!”

  “Shey Lynne, you were sixteen.”

  “You did talk to him.”

  “It wasn’t much of a talk. I think I used my fists.”

  My stomach hurts. “You hit him?”

  Brick doesn’t even blink. “Don’t feel bad for him. He got in a couple good licks, too. I think he was the one who burst my eardrum.”

  “I can’t believe you fought your best friend.”

  “You were my baby sister. I had to make sure he respected you.”

  “Oh, he respected me all right. He never had anything to do with me after that.”

  “Good.”

  “Not good! Brick, I loved him—”

  “You were a kid.”

  “Charlotte was sixteen when she met you. You were seventeen. Why were your feelings legit and mine weren’t?”

  “It’s different.”

  “How so?” I demand.

  “Dane’s six years older than you. He was twenty-two to your sixteen and you were jailbait—”

  “Okay, I’ve got it,” Mason shouts, interrupting us. “The light’s fading fast. Let’s see if we can’t get another ten or twenty frames in before it’s gone.”

  “This isn’t over,” I whisper to Brick as we take position.

  “And you, Shey Lynne, you need to move on,” he responds, teeth gritted.

  Our easy rapport is gone, and we stand stiffly next to each other. Mason works swiftly to take advantage of the little light that’s left, and Brick and I drop the subject of Dane. But once Mason wraps up, I stalk off, still furious.

  In the guesthouse bathroom, I wipe off some of the extra makeup and change into a long tiered black skirt, a black embroidered blouse, and a chunky silver-and-turquoise belt I wear low on my hips. My stomach churns as I brush my hair.

  For the past twenty years I thought Dane didn’t care and wasn’t interested in me, but in truth, Dane was warned off.

  Maybe we wouldn’t have worked, but maybe we would have. What’s upsetting is that thanks to Brick’s overprotective instincts, we were never given a chance to figure it out for ourselves.

  There’s a pounding on the bathroom door. “Mom, we’re here!” Cooper announces.

  I put down the brush, open the door, and see my three dressed in jeans and boots. Hank and Bo are wearing collared polos, but Coop has on a western shirt. Coop’s really gone country, hasn’t he? “You guys look great. Ready for the party?”

  “There are some hot girls here,” Bo says, grinning. “And Uncle Blue said there would be more coming later. I guess they’re still with their parents at the hotel but should be arriving in an hour.”

  “Hot girls, poor you,” I tease, putting away my cosmetic bag and brush and turning off the light.

  Tonight’s party is for Blue’s investors and prospective buyers, and he’s gone all out for it, with an authentic Texas hoedown, a country-western band from Fort Worth, and a DJ and caterer from Dallas.

  After stowing my gear in the truck, I follow the boys to the caterer’s chuckwagon and smoker, where we inspect the slow-cooked ribs and tender beef brisket. Everything smells so good, and as we sniff around, mouths watering, the band begins to warm up.

  Hank looks up at the colorful lights strung across the dining area and dance floor and then at the red gingham cloths and lanterns on the tables and grudgingly admits that it’s pretty cool. “Uncle Blue went all out,” he says. “They’ve even got real sawdust and everything.”

  “So do we have to hang out with you?” Bo asks, craning his head to keep an eye out for the girls.

  I know where his interest lies, and I bite back my smile. “No. I’ll hang out with Aunt Charlotte. You don’t need to babysit me. Have fun.”

  I’ve just finished dinner and am chatting with Charlotte about the changes in her department at the hospital when Mason approaches and asks if I’ll dance.

  It’s a line dance, and it’s been a long time since I did the Texas two-step, but I laughingly accept. He takes my hand, pulling me to my feet.

  “I’m going to look silly,” I warn him. “I don’t even remember the steps.”

  “It’ll come back to you,” he assures me as we take our place on the sawdust-covered dance floor.

  And it does come back. Not immediately, but after a few times through, I’ve got it down. I stop trying to think and remember, and just move.

  It crosses my mind that John would have a heart attack if he saw me now. He hates country-western music, loathes anything western. But these are my roots. I grew up attending roundups, rodeos, and county fairs, and I loved the hot, muggy summers and the cold, crisp winters and the scent of hay and freshly churned earth. I might have spent the past twenty years living in Milan and New York, but the country has stayed in my blood.

  My boots thud in the fresh sawdust and, turning, I sway my hips and catch sight of my boys’ faces. They’re watching me with avid interest, having only ever seen me dance at weddings and bar mitzvahs. I don’t mind their grins and laughter, though. It’s just part of being Mom.

  I make a face at the boys and then ignore them by focusing on Mason and the warm night and the music. Dancing, I feel the swish of my full skirt against my bare calves and the weight of my hair spilling down my back. Looking up, I get a glimpse of the colorful red and yellow lights strung overhead. Beyond the lights are tree branches and the moon. It’s such a beautiful night, and I feel an unexpected rush of pleasure.

  I need to do this more. Dance. Laugh. Socialize.

  I’ve become too isolated. I spend too much time with the boys or my brothers. I need girl time. I need positive girl energy.

  Marta used to tell me I was so inspiring. She said I was the most positive person she knew. But the sunny, optimistic Shey has been gone a long time now, and I miss her.

  I miss me.

  I want the happy me back. The one who knew how to laugh and tell a good dirty joke and just be comfortable in my own skin.

  I’m not sure what I need to do to get the happy me back, but I’m going to figure it out. I’ll make Shey a priority for a change.

  “You’re a great dancer,” Mason shouts to me over the amplified music.

  “Not great, but I am having a really good time,” I answer, flashing him a warm smile.

  We do another spin, and as I turn, I see big shoulders on a big man, a man with thick honey blond hair. My breath catches in my throat.

  Dane’s here.

  I lose track of what I’m supposed to be doing and step the opposite direction, bumping into Mason. He steadies me. “Gotcha,” he says.

  “Sorry. Got distracted,” I say, flushing. I steal another glance in Dane’s direction, and my skin prickles as I realize he’s not alone, either. He has a date, a stunning brunette in snug jeans, an even snugger sexy western-cut blouse, and fancy dress boots. Despite the western threads, she screams city and money, and I’m reminded of Blue’s wife, Emily.

  Since I’ve already vowed that I’m not going to get involved with him, I don’t know why I care that Dane has a date, but I do. I care very much, which just frustrates me.

  Even more frustrating is that Dane’s cane in no way diminishes his size or strength. I should find him less attractive now that he’s injured. But he’s still so big, and his thighs are so muscular, they stretch the denim fabric, making his Wranglers look as if they were painted on. Sinewy thighs. Lean hips. Perfect butt.

  The song ends, and Mason walks me back to the table where I was sitting with Charlotte. I sit down, and Mason takes a seat near me.

  “Thank you. That was fun,” h
e says, running a hand through his dark hair. We’re both warm and a little breathless from dancing. “Wish I didn’t have to get back to Dallas. I’d love to stay another couple hours. Love to dance another dance.”

  “It was fun,” I agree, suddenly self-conscious and knowing it’s because Dane’s here. But how can Dane give me butterflies twenty years later? How can he make me feel like a teenager all over again?

  I glance up then, and as I do, my gaze collides with Dane’s.

  Dane doesn’t look away. He holds my gaze, jaw squared, and I stare right back.

  I’m not going to run and hide. Not going to back down. Not going to let him win this time.

  I can hear Mason talking, but my attention is only on Dane, and we continue our little stare-down for another couple of seconds.

  The edge of his mouth lifts. He smiles the smallest of smiles at me, as if he’s somehow won.

  But he didn’t win. He hasn’t won.

  “I’m anxious to see how the last thirty frames turned out.” Mason’s still talking, and I force my focus back to what he’s saying. “The sunset couldn’t have been more spectacular, but I’m not sure about my lighting on you and Brick.”

  I’m listening to Mason, but my attention is still split and it’s a struggle to answer him. “I’m sure you’ll have something Blue can use.”

  “I’ll let you know,” he promises. “And Shey, if you’re not going back to New York right away, I’d love to see you again. Even as friends.” He sees my expression and adds apologetically, “Your brother told me about John. I’m sorry. John’s a fool.”

  I feel a sudden tightness in my chest. Don’t want to think about John tonight. John’s part of the past. I need to leave him there. “I guess we can’t help who we love.”

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Shey—”

  “I’d love to be friends, Mason,” I interrupt gently. I don’t like cutting him short, but I’m not ready for compliments and charm. “Let’s stay in touch. Okay?”