“All your shots.” He sees my shocked expression, shakes his head. “How do you think I feel? I’m your brother, for God’s sake. I know what guys are thinking when they’re staring at your pictures. Especially when they’re in the men’s room.”
A few seconds pass, and I shift uncomfortably. “I take it someone called you after seeing us at Dixie’s.”
“No. Someone called Blue. Blue called me.” Brick shoots me another long look. “After calling Mama.”
“You’re joking.” I can’t believe Blue called Mama. I slump against the seat. “Why would Blue do that?”
Brick shrugs. “Dane’s seeing Lulu, Blue’s biggest investor.”
“And?”
“If you make trouble between Dane and Lulu, Blue’s worried he’ll lose Lulu’s support.”
“That’s ridiculous! And what did Mama say?”
The edge of Brick’s mouth lifts. “She told Blue to mind his own business.”
I sit up straighter. “She didn’t!”
His mouth quirks again. “She did. And then she called Charlotte to see if Char knew anything more than what Blue had told her.”
Oh, my God. Gossip city. Everyone calling everyone. Everyone knowing everything. “Mama didn’t call me.”
“She wouldn’t, and I doubt she’ll say anything to you next time she calls.”
“Why not?”
We’ve come to a red light, and Brick slows and shifts into neutral. We sit in silence, watching the traffic. A blue pickup passes, a silver SUV, a couple of white cars, and a guy on a bike, and then the light changes and Brick accelerates. “Because Mama always thought you’d end up with Dane.”
“What? ”
Brick shrugs and just keeps driving.
Chapter Twelve
Manny’s put on a good twenty-five pounds since high school and now sports a trim goatee and a couple of well-placed tattoos. He greets me with a big smile and pulls out his wallet to show me pictures of his five kids.
“Five, Manny?” I tease. “You’ve certainly been busy.”
“I have a good wife and beautiful kids. I’m a lucky man.”
Manny’s always been a good guy, but I like him even better for the pride he takes in his family. “My oldest is a senior at Mineral Wells,” he adds, tapping a shot of a serious-looking teenager in a football uniform. “He’s in the ROTC program. Joining the army after school. They’re going to help pay for college. Junior will be the first one in my family to go to college. I hope the others will, too.”
I can’t help comparing his son Junior with Hank. Junior’s joined the army so he can go to college, while Hank expects the family to leverage the ranch so he can go to prep school. Hank’s sense of entitlement mortifies me, and I find myself wishing Hank were more like Junior—willing to do whatever’s necessary to go to school instead of asking everyone else to make the sacrifice.
I’ve screwed up. I haven’t taught my kids personal responsibility. I haven’t taught them well at all.
The rest of the week passes far more slowly than I’d like. I’m not normally a restless person, but waiting for Saturday makes me downright antsy.
I’m far too excited about Saturday. I have way too many hopes and expectations. I’m going to be disappointed, I know I’ll be disappointed, and I try to temper my enthusiasm, reminding myself that just because I’m still attracted to Dane, just because I have lingering feelings for him, doesn’t make him an option. The truth is, my life is complicated and my boys are demanding, and I should be focusing only on them. I should make them my sole priority.
Should…
Should…
Should…
The shoulds pile up in my mind, stacking like bricks, weighing on my conscience.
And then I push the shoulds away. It’s just a family outing to the fair. I’m not abandoning the boys. I’m not having a hot, illicit date. I’ve just asked Dane to go to the fair with us. Big deal.
And then I get that little thrill of anticipation when I least expect it, and I know it’s not just a big deal. It’s a huge deal.
On Saturday, Dane picks us up at four to drive us into Dallas. Because it’s been really hot the last few days, I’m wearing a long, slim coral spaghetti-strap sundress that should keep me cool, but I carry a jeans jacket in case I need it later tonight.
Dane’s gaze lingers on my bare shoulders as we climb into his truck. “That’s a good color on you,” he says as the boys settle into the backseat and I take the front.
I see the expression in his green eyes—it’s definitely all male—and my insides flip. He’s physical and sexual. John was nothing like this. John was sophistication and elegance, but not sex.
Never sex.
And just like a moth drawn to flame, I look up into Dane’s eyes again. The heat’s still there.
In his eyes I’m beautiful.
In his eyes I’m still young, fierce, headstrong Shey.
Thank God.
Thank God someone, somewhere, still sees the real me. The me I lost. The me I miss.
“You look pretty good, too,” I say, cheeks flushed, skin glowing sensitive and hot.
“You like my T-shirt?” he drawls, eyes resting lazily, provocatively, on my face.
I blush again and squirm inwardly. It is just a T-shirt, isn’t it? “It’s a nice one,” I say weakly, thinking I’ll never survive a night with him. Not when I feel this much. Not when I want this much.
I dig this guy.
I dig him a lot.
The edge of Dane’s mouth curls as if he can read my mind. Then he shifts into drive and we’re off.
We enter the fairgrounds at five after six, as it took twenty minutes just to find parking and then another fifteen to walk from where we parked to the main gate. Dane doesn’t exactly spring to the entrance, but he does all right with his cane. The boys walk a little ahead of us, discussing what they’re going to eat, see, and do. Corn dogs and fried Twinkies are high on the eat list. Riding the roller coasters are a must on the to-do list. And maybe, just maybe, there will be cute girls here tonight, too. Bo’s hands gesture animatedly as he talks. Coop laughs as he listens.
“It’s nice to see them having fun together,” I say, watching the two joke around. “More often than not, they fight.”
“Boys do that,” Dane answers.
“It grows old. All the posturing and competing.”
“That’s testosterone, darlin’.”
“I know. Still.”
We’ve reached the front and I move toward the long ticket line, but Dane stops me, shows me that he’s already purchased them. “I’m impressed,” I say, eyebrows arching. “How did you do that?”
“I’m connected,” he answers with a grin, steering us into the fair with the fifty-two-foot-tall cowboy statue everyone calls Big Tex. It’s been a fair icon since 1952, and the fair wouldn’t be our state fair without it.
The boys want to go straight to the rides, so I hand them each a twenty to buy tickets and let them go ahead to purchase them.
“I was thinking about what you told me about Bo,” Dane says as we watch the kids run to get in line at the little ticket booth. “Bo has a problem controlling his temper?”
I can see Bo laughing as he and Cooper jockey for position in line. “Not anger per se, but depression. He was diagnosed a couple years ago and we took him to counseling and it seemed to help, but he hasn’t seen anyone since John’s and my separation, and I just worry about him. If someone could just guarantee that he’d be okay, that the depression won’t return, that he won’t be bipolar. If someone could just make it okay…”
“But that’s your job,” Dane says. “No one can make it okay for you. You have to make it okay.”
“How?” There’s panic in my voice, panic and desperation.
“By making peace with life, and our lack of control. Because we have no control. We never have. Never will. Sometimes we think we do, but it’s an illusion.”
I hear what Dane’s saying, bu
t he can’t be right. Maybe we don’t have total control, but we have some, and that has to be enough. Enough to protect our families. Enough to allow us to live happy lives. “I refuse to believe I can’t help Bo—”
“Oh, you can try, but you can’t protect him, or save him. And sometimes all your best efforts to help won’t change the outcome.”
“I can’t accept that.”
“I couldn’t either.”
Bo has bought his tickets and Coop’s purchasing his now. “I won’t lose Bo,” I say. “I can’t. It’d kill me.”
“It won’t kill you,” Dane answers after a moment as the boys run back to meet us. “But there are times you wish it would.”
I look up at him. His expression is neutral, but there are shadows in his eyes.
I want to say something, but we’re not the people we once were. We lack the easy familiarity of the past, and we haven’t spent enough time together to have established anything new. Maybe one day, I tell myself as I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, before reaching out to touch his hand.
Monday after school, I drive Cooper to Dane’s place. He’s excited and nervous and doesn’t talk much on the way there. “You going to be okay?” I ask him as we approach the big stone house.
He’s dressed in Wranglers, boots, and a dark denim shirt and has the rest of his gear in a duffel bag. Coop nods his head yes.
I spot Dane’s black truck parked down by the barn where he breeds his champion bucking bulls, bulls coveted by the professional rodeo association for their ability to kick, buck, spin, and move. A great bull doesn’t kick or jump just in a straight line, but also from side to side. This is what every cowboy hopes to draw, as half the points in the bull-riding event go to the bull and the other half go to the cowboy’s skill in sticking to the bull.
As we pull up next to the corral, a handsome red colt runs around the ring, shaking his head and kicking up his heels. I suspect he’s not yet broken. I look at Coop and feel butterflies in my stomach. Dane may be an expert at breaking colts and riding bulls, but Cooper’s only experience with livestock is with our mares, and they’re old and placid and easy to lead.
“You want me to stay?” I ask him as Dane emerges from the barn.
Cooper shakes his head. “No. You’ll just make it worse.”
“How?”
“You know what’s going to happen. I’m going to get bucked off, thrown, head-butted, kicked, and who knows what else. It’s going to hurt. You’re going to cry. And Dane’s just going to get mad. So go home and come back in two hours.”
I stare at this reed-thin boy of mine. Twelve years old and taller than most men. “Sounds awful. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
He looks at me and his eyes are a bright, brilliant blue. There’s fear in his eyes but excitement, too. “I never wanted anything half so much.” And then he opens the door, jumps out of the truck, and heads toward Dane without a glance back.
Dane waits for Coop by the corral, a rope over his shoulder. I want to roll down my window and shout to Dane to be careful, to warn him that Coop’s a greenhorn and still my baby. But I can see from Dane’s expression that he already knows.
So I leave the window up, raise a hand in farewell, and drive away.
The sun is setting as I return to Dane’s ranch to pick up my son. Coop is dusty and bleeding as he half hobbles, half runs toward the truck. “That was crazy, Mom,” he pants, climbing into the truck. “Scary, crazy, and so much fun.”
“What’s bleeding?” I ask, tilting his head up.
“My upper lip. Oh, and I need to get a different mouth guard. This one was too big, and Dane says I could lose a tooth.”
Great.
Dane walks to my side of the truck, and I roll down the window. “He needs a better mouth guard,” Dane says.
I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the setting sun’s rays to get a better look at Dane, who looks so tough and sexy that it makes my insides melt. “He just told me.”
“But otherwise he did great. He’s surprisingly comfortable. Don’t know that I’d go so far as to call him a natural, but he has a good center of gravity. Nice sense of balance. Today we worked on keeping his feet heavy and low and all his weight centered evenly in his thighs and hips.”
“You didn’t ride?”
“No, I had him on the mechanical bull and covered the basics. Showed him how to put on the bull rope, hold the rope with the riding glove, had him stand on the slats and lower himself onto the back of the steer—”
“What steer?”
“The one I rode,” Coop explains with a swollen-lip grin.
I look at Dane, and for the first time it crosses my mind that John would not want Coop pursuing this. “He rode a steer today? His first day?”
Dane’s powerful shoulders shift. “Thought we’d see how he’d do. And he did good. Better than I thought.”
“It wasn’t a bull,” Coop pipes up. “Just a steer, Mom. That’s what the kids my age compete on. Although next year when I’m thirteen I’ll ride old bulls, ones that don’t kick too hard.”
I hear what Coop’s saying, but I’m still looking at Dane. “Do you know what you’re doing, Kelly?” I ask under my breath.
Dane’s green eyes are flecked with yellow as he smiles faintly. “Usually I’d say no, but when it comes to bull riding, it’s a yes. Your boy’s tough. And smart. I think he’s got a shot.”
“So I’m coming back, Mom.” Cooper leans forward to catch Dane’s eye. “Wednesday, right?”
“We’re going to go Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for the next month, schedule permitting,” Dane explains. “But I know that’s a lot of driving and you have three kids, so you drop him here and I’ll get him back to you afterwards.”
I immediately start to protest, but Dane cuts me short. “Cooper and I have worked it out,” he says, voice pitched so low that I find myself looking up into his eyes. “If you can drop him here at four, I’ll make sure he gets home after.”
I glance at Cooper, who is cut and dirty and bruised, yet all lit up like a Christmas tree. “I can get him here,” I agree huskily, thinking this is madness trying to pretend that Dane has no effect on me when all I want is to lean closer and smell his scent and feel his warmth.
“Done.” Dane tips the brim of his cowboy hat at Coop. “See you Wednesday, Coop.” And then he winks at me. “See you then, Shey.”
See you then, Shey.
I replay his parting words over and over in my head as I drive Cooper home. I see the wink and the tilt of his mouth, and I’m flooded with yearning.
I want him. Want to be with him. But I don’t know how to do this. I haven’t been single in nearly twenty years. Haven’t kissed another man. Haven’t wanted another man. But now…
Now…
My libido is kicking in, and it’s making me crazy.
I feel crazy.
I have just enough of Dane to know I want more, but not enough to feel remotely satisfied.
What would make me feel satisfied?
Sex.
Maybe I need to sleep with him. Maybe that would get him out of my system. Maybe one good roll in the hay would cure me of my Dane obsession.
Maybe. But unlikely.
It takes me a week to work up my courage to ask Dane to stay for dinner. It’s the third week of October, and the air is crisp and the leaves on the poplars lining Dane’s drive are beginning to turn.
“Want to join us for dinner tonight?” I ask Dane as he approaches my truck. “It’s nothing fancy, but we’d enjoy your company.”
“Wish I could, but I have plans tonight. Taking Lulu to dinner.”
Lulu. Ugh.
I must make a face because Dane shakes his head. “You’re such a little girl, you really are.”
“What?”
“You know what.”
“I just don’t understand the attraction.”
“You don’t have to. You’re not dating her.” And then he smiles at me, tota
lly remorseless. “By the way, Wednesday’s going to be the last day I can work with Coop for a week. I leave Thursday for Brazil. Won’t be back until the twenty-seventh.”
I force a breezy smile to hide my disappointment. “Sounds like we’ll just be missing each other, then. I leave for Puerto Rico on the twenty-fourth.”
“How long are you gone?”
“Six days.”
“Looks like Coop’s going to miss training for the next little bit. Sorry to hear that. He’s making good progress.”
He feels bad for Coop. He’ll miss Coop. But not one word about me.
The next couple of days drag by. I hadn’t realized how much I looked forward to those brief visits with Dane three times a week until I can’t see him at all.
I miss him. And I find it maddening that I do miss him. I hadn’t wanted to feel this way, not after he made such mincemeat of my heart all those years ago. But the attraction’s still there. I’m still infatuated, drawn by his energy and charisma, hooked by the fact that being around him makes my heart beat a little faster and my imagination dance.
But I don’t trust the attraction. I can’t afford to be careless or reckless, not when I have three teenagers who are hormonally challenged.
I wake up Thursday morning and realize I’m down to three days before I fly to Puerto Rico. Mama arrives from Jefferson on Saturday.
I need to start packing and getting ready for the trip, but I wish I could see Dane before I go.
While coffee brews, I make a list of all the things I still have to do. Laundry, pack, hair, waxing, manicure, pedicure. That doesn’t include the cleaning I need to do to get the house ready for Mama.
While the boys are at school, I zip into Fort Worth, where I get my hair done—a mix of lowlights and highlights as well as overall color to hide my few strands of gray. Hair a perfect gold, I see to the waxing and have it all done—eyebrows, underarms, full leg, and Brazilian bikini. When you’re modeling swimsuits, there’s no room for hair anywhere. Nails are last and easy, and with grooming behind me, I stop in at Barnes & Noble and buy a copy of Frommer’s Puerto Rico.
As I thumb through the copy while standing in line for the register, I realize I’m finally starting to get excited about the trip. I haven’t let myself get excited until now in case it didn’t work out, but we’re three days and counting.
She’s Gone Country Page 16