She’s Gone Country

by Jane Porter; Jane Porter

  I’m hot and nervous, skin all prickly as I climb into his truck. “I could eat.”

  “How’s Dixie’s sound?”

  “Great.” Adrenaline’s pumping as I shut the door behind me. I glance at him quickly, nervously. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  He smiles, and the creases at his eyes deepen. I don’t know how it’s possible, but he’s better looking now at forty-five than he was at twenty-two. I don’t miss the cockiness of youth, appreciating instead that he’s a man in his prime—mature and comfortable in his skin.

  “You’re only a little out of the way,” he says with that slow smile.

  My insides do a free fall all over again, and I fumble with the seat belt. It takes me a few attempts before I’m able to get it buckled. I look at him from the corner of my eye to see if he’s noticed. He has.

  Relax, I tell myself. Come on, pull it together.

  He shoots me an amused glance. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’ll settle down. Just give me a minute.”

  “What’s got you so jumpy?” he asks as we head down the lane away from the house, beneath the high canopy of seventy-year-old oak trees, the thick limbs gnarled, the sun poking through the leaves dappling the road.

  I give him a long look. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. You’re a problem.”

  “I’m a problem.”

  I laugh at the way he repeats me, as well as his incredulous tone. I’d forgotten how he always made me laugh. “Yes. You’ve made me crazy since the first day I met you—”

  “Shey, you were two,” he answers dryly.

  The laughter bubbles up in me again. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, unfortunately, I do.”

  “This is going to be a disaster.”

  “You just need some ribs. You’ll be fine.”

  I can’t help smiling at him. I’d forgotten that I could feel like this. Light and funny, clever and strong. Maybe that’s Dane’s magic. He’s always made me feel special.

  He glances at me. “It’s nice to hear you laugh, Shey.”

  The hot, bright emotion rushes through me again, and it’s overwhelming. “It’s nice to laugh. It’s been a while.”

  “I take it you’re still modeling?”

  “I wasn’t doing a lot of work in New York lately—there are so many models to choose from there. But I’ve been able to get booked for some good jobs here. I guess I’m lucky.”

  “Not lucky. You’re beautiful.”

  I close my eyes, fight the emptiness and the longing and all the needs that have gone unmet for so long. “You shouldn’t pay me compliments like that. They’ll turn my head.”

  “Good.”

  “Oh, Dane.”

  “What, darlin’?”

  He sounds exactly like the man I fell in love with. Sexy and rugged and yet tender, too, and it makes my heart ache. “It’s been a rough year,” I confess huskily. “I miss how things were. I miss who I used to be.”

  “You’re still the same Shey.”

  “Then why don’t I feel like me?”

  “Because you’re hanging on to the negative stuff, lingering on the bad feelings. But you can’t get hung up on the bad. You’ve got to let it go, otherwise you’re toast.”

  We emerge just then from the dappled shade into the dazzling glaze of sunlight. “So you can let the bad stuff go now?”

  “No. Not always. But it’s the goal.”

  Dixie’s is a little barbecue joint in Mineral Wells operating out of a converted A&W restaurant. The exterior is white. The interior is white with red picnic tables and benches. There’s no artwork to speak of, just a huge menu handwritten on the wall. Dixie’s serves ribs and brisket along with a choice of barbecue sauces, thick and tangy, hot and spicy, sweet or smoky.

  In Texas, beef reigns supreme. Texas barbecue is synonymous with beef brisket, and the best pit masters don’t even bother with sauces or rubs. They rely on time and wood smoke—up to eighteen hours in the pit. Tommy Johns, the owner of Dixie’s, moved from Memphis and brought along his love of ribs, particularly the dry rib, a rack of spareribs cooked with rub instead of sauce, which is what we order today.

  Dane pays for lunch, and I carry our plastic tumblers of iced tea to an open spot on one of the red tables. Fans whir overhead and from high on the walls. The air feels good on the back of my neck, and I tip my head back, exhale.

  Dane joins me at the table, shifting his cane to the side to take a seat on the bench. I can see that he’s not comfortable, at least not right away. He shifts his weight, extends his leg, and then catches me staring.

  “Something wrong?” he drawls.

  “Just watching you.”

  “You always were all eyes.”

  I smile. “I can’t help it. You’re nice to look at.”

  He shakes his head. “See? You haven’t changed. You’re still the same Shey. Beautiful, stubborn, and headstrong.”

  I study him, thinking I’ve loved his face for as long as I can remember—such strong cheekbones and jaw, with that straight nose and beautiful mouth. I love his mouth and the way his whole face is put together. “Are you and Lulu pretty serious?” I blurt.

  He gives me a pointed look.

  I push on. “She doesn’t seem right for you.”

  “You don’t know her.”

  “But I do know she married a man nearly fifty years older than her. What thirty-two-year-old woman wants to be with an eighty-year-old man?”

  He shakes his head at me. “Nice southern girls are supposed to make polite conversation.”

  “I guess I’m not a nice southern girl anymore.”

  The edge of his mouth lifts. “Your mama won’t want to hear that.”

  “Mama’s never happy with me no matter what I do.”

  “So why did you come home, then?”

  “When we came back for Cody’s funeral in June, it just felt right. I was home. I was back where I belonged. And Brick and Blue were wonderful with the boys. It made me realize that I’ve missed having my family around, missed being part of the family. I thought that living here would be a positive change. It would give the kids time to adjust to their dad’s new life, and allow me to spend more time with them as well. In New York I worked a lot, especially when I was younger. Here on the ranch I’m with them every day.”

  “So their dad has a new woman?”

  “No. Their dad has…” I take a deep breath and plunge ahead, “A new man.” I see Dane’s stunned expression and try to ignore the sick feeling I get just talking about John. “It’s been hard. The boys aren’t sure what to think.”

  “Your husband’s… gay?”

  My smile isn’t entirely steady. “Apparently so.”

  “Was he always?”

  “He said he suspected, but he fought it, and thought with me he could be straight.” I squirm a little, finding the conversation uncomfortable, knowing that everyone is wondering whether John and I had sex—and yes, we did, and yes, the sex was fine. Was it brilliant or mind-blowing? No. But did I enjoy it? Yes.

  I glance at him, shoulders lifting and falling. “And no, I had no idea he might be gay. We had a normal relationship, a good marriage. A great marriage. He was my partner. My best friend.”

  “How many years were you married?”

  “It would have been seventeen this year.”

  “Sounds like you were happy.”

  “I was. Very.”

  “That must have made your husband’s announcement a shocker.”

  “A huge one.”

  The man at the counter calls our number, and I get our food.

  We don’t talk a lot as we eat. Ribs are messy and I’m doing a fair amount of finger licking, but Dane’s doing the same thing. “Feel better, darlin’?” he asks after I’ve used one of the little wet towels to wipe my hands clean.

  “I do. Guess you were right. I just needed some ribs.”
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  He flashes a smile at me, and I get that wild adrenaline rush all over again. He’s so damn hot. It’s really not fair. “Were you happy with Shellie Ann?”

  Dane had just started to rise, but he sits back down. He doesn’t immediately answer, and then when he does, he picks his words with care. “We tried hard to make it work. But it was never an easy relationship. It was never like—” He breaks off, swallowing whatever else he was going to say. “Finished?” he asks instead, rising.

  I look up at him, imagine how he might have finished the thought. But there’s little point in fantasizing about us. There was never an “us”—we flirted for years and only had that one month of dates, which doesn’t make a relationship.

  We step out into the sunshine, and it’s warm and the sky is a clear bright blue. It’s a gorgeous day, and I tip my head back to take it all in. I love October, love this time of year.

  Back in the truck, Dane asks me about my upcoming modeling trip. “Are Brick and Char watching your boys when you’re in Puerto Rico?”

  “No. Mama is.” I see Dane’s expression, and my lips curve ruefully. “I know. I feel the same way. And I’m worried. Hank and Coop will be fine with her for five days, but Bo… I don’t know. He needs special handling. A little more patience. A lot more supervision. I’m worried Mama’s not going to understand. I’m afraid there’ll be a big blowup.”

  “Her or him?”

  “Him. Then her.”

  “Does he blow up often?”

  “No, not with me. But that’s because I know Bo and I don’t push him too far. When I see he’s about to melt down, I back off, give him an out.” I sigh, feel the weight on my chest, the pressure always there. “Brick says I’m too soft on him. Blue says the same thing. But Bo really struggles, far more than the other two, and I have to be careful with him, and vigilant.”

  “Don’t worry about what other people say. You’re his mom. He’s your responsibility. Trust your instincts.”

  “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “Then you’re doing the right thing.”

  I don’t know why, but that makes me feel so much better. I shift on the seat, pull one leg up under me, and we drive in companionable silence until we turn off 180 onto Turkey Flat Road, which leads to the ranch. We’ll be home in just a few minutes, and I’m not ready for the trip to end. I loved being with him today. Loved talking to him. Looking at him. Just hanging out with him.

  We hit one of the potholes in the road, and his cane slides off the seat. He reaches down and retrieves it, leaning it against the bench seat. His hand is strong, callused, and tan. It’s also scarred. He’s a fighter, not a quitter, and I can only imagine the fight he must have made for his son.

  “I wish I could have met him,” I say, the ranch house coming into view.

  Dane glances at me as we pass beneath the shady canopy of the oak trees.

  “Matthew,” I say.

  We pull in front of the house, and Dane shifts the car into neutral. “He was the best boy,” he replies after a moment.

  I look at him, wishing there were something I could say, some comfort I could give. But I can think of nothing. His son has been gone more than ten years now, yet I can tell that the grief is still there.

  I reach for my purse and then the door handle but then hesitate. “How do you bear it?”

  He doesn’t speak immediately, stares instead at the old barn and stables. Then, as the silence stretches to a breaking point, Dane looks at me. There’s sorrow etched in his features, burned into his eyes. “The truth is, sometimes I don’t.”

  The lump returns to my throat. “You still think about him a lot?”

  “Every single day.”

  I sit for a moment, feeling his pain. Then, when it’s too much, I open the door. “Thanks for the ribs.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts in a ghostly smile. “Anytime, darlin’.”

  I force a smile, lift my hand in a farewell gesture, and enter the ranch house knowing that Dane Kelly owns far more of my heart than he should.

  Late that afternoon as I’m making dinner, Dane calls to talk to Coop, and they’re on the phone for nearly ten minutes before Cooper hands me the phone. “He wants to talk to you,” Cooper tells me, clearly anxious that this conversation go well. “Whatever it is, say yes.”

  I give him a look as I take the phone. “Dane, it’s Shey.”

  “I had a good talk with Cooper and I’ve agreed to work with him three times a week for a couple hours each session. In exchange I expect him to pitch in around here, shadow my guys, learn what he can about raising livestock. I thought we’d start next Monday. I’ve got the ropes, spurs, gloves, strapping tape, and so on. But he should have his own helmet, mouth guard, and face guard. Not everyone uses the helmet and face guard, but I think it should be mandatory, especially for juniors.”

  “We’ll get them this week,” I answer, grateful and touched that he’s agreed to work with Coop after all. “What about chaps and vest?”

  “I don’t think he needs chaps for a while, but a vest, definitely. It’s essential for upper-body protection.”

  “We’ll get that, too, and I really appreciate it, Dane. You’ve made him very happy.”

  “I’m hoping he’ll enjoy it. It’s not going to be easy, though. He’s a tall kid and coming into it late.”

  “He knows that. He’s prepared.” I’m about to say good-bye when I remember that the big State Fair of Texas opened last Friday in Dallas and I was thinking of taking the boys this weekend. “Are you around this weekend?”

  “Yes and no. Why?”

  “I was hoping to take the boys to the state fair. Wondered if you’d want to go with us.” Part ag-fest, part carnival, the State Fair of Texas is a twenty-four-day party that even my boys would enjoy. “But there’s no pressure, of course,” I add quickly.

  “I haven’t been in years,” he answers.

  “Neither have I. I think the last time I went was the year I tagged along with you and Brick and Charlotte.” I don’t add that Dane was dating some redheaded rodeo queen at the time who surprised us all by showing up at the fair halfway into the evening. I was so bummed when she arrived, as it changed the dynamics. Dane had been talking to me and going on the rides with me, and then when she appeared, it all changed. Dane focused on her—Barb, I think her name was—and I became an awkward, and jealous, fifth wheel.

  “I have plans on Sunday,” he says now, “but could do Saturday.”

  “Then Saturday it is.”

  I promise to follow up with him on the exact time after I’ve talked to my boys, and then I hang up. It’s not until I’ve replaced the phone on the wall that I realize what I’ve done. I’ve invited Dane to join us. Included him in our family outing. I smile nervously. This could be good. Or it could be a complete disaster.

  Over dinner, I brief the boys on the plans for the weekend. Hank immediately opts out. He doesn’t want to attend a gussied-up agriculture event. Bo tries to tell him that it’s more of a carnival with the seventy-five rides and two hundred concessions, but Hank won’t be swayed. Fortunately, Bo and Cooper are excited. And when I tell them Dane’s going to be joining us, too, Coop lets out a whoop of pleasure. “Are you serious?” he demands. “Dane Kelly’s going with us? To the fair?”

  I laugh at his expression. “Yes.”

  “Are we all going together or is he meeting us there?”

  “I think we’re all going in one car.”

  “Wow. That’s so cool.”

  Even Bo’s impressed. “How did you get Dane to say yes?”

  I realize the boys don’t understand how close we all were and how much time we spent together growing up. Dane Kelly isn’t just some cowboy. He was part of the family. He felt like my family. There are few people who meant more to me in my life than he did.

  Manny calls the next morning to say he’s got Pop’s truck running and I can pick it up this afternoon. I phone Brick with the news, and he offers to drop me off in tow
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  Less than an hour later, Brick’s picked me up and we drive in silence for a few miles. I stare out the window at scenery that’s as familiar as my backyard. The 180 can be beautiful, but this section just looks neglected, the old highway marked by straggly trees, faded billboards, a rusting, abandoned car, and a gas station that was boarded up long ago.

  “You’re pretty quiet today,” Brick comments, shifting gears as we approach the outskirts of Mineral Wells.

  I lean back, extend my legs, study the tips of my scuffed boots. “Just relaxed. Happy.”

  He shoots me a quick glance. “You look happy.”

  “Yeah, I am. It’s nice for a change.”

  A minute passes, and another, then Brick clears his throat. “Do those nice feelings have anything to do with your lunch with Dane?”

  I get a sinking feeling in my gut. “What lunch?”

  “Yesterday’s date with Dane.”

  “It wasn’t a date.”

  “At Dixie’s,” he continues, glancing at me, his expression inscrutable. “You had to know I’d find out.”

  “It was just lunch,” I say, staring out the window. This isn’t something I want to discuss with Brick.

  “So you aren’t going to the fair with him this weekend? And Coop’s not training with him starting Monday?”

  Sounds like Cooper was running off at the mouth this morning as Brick drove the boys to school. “Why can’t we be friends with him?”

  “Because you and Dane have never just been ‘friends.’ There’s always been something more there, and the fact is, if you spend time together, whether it’s you and him, or your kids and him, people are going to talk.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “Shey, you’ve been in New York too long if you think folks won’t. This is a small town, and you and Dane are big celebrities.”

  “I’m not a celebrity—”

  “No? Then why does your crochet bikini shot still hang in many a garage and tackroom?”

  “That crochet bikini shot was a lifetime ago. No one normal would still have it pinned up—”

  “Don’t say that to Manny. He worked all night on the truck to get it fixed for you.”

  “Manny’s got the photo up?”