The kitchen door hangs from its hinges. It was never a big, heavy door in the first place, and decades of cold winters and scorching summers have weathered it to its brittle state. Even I can see it wouldn’t have taken that much effort to break down the old door.
Dane doesn’t even bother to hide his disgust. “Brick should have replaced this door years ago.”
“Don’t blame Brick. It’s not his fault—”
“Maybe not, but someone should have taken better care of you.” He jabs his cane into the floor, and the words come out in a hiss. “You could have been hurt—”
“I know!” I don’t know why I’m shouting at him, because I’m not mad at him. I’m mad at me. I should have gone with the police, gone to a motel, done anything but called Dane. Turning to Dane is not the answer, never has been the answer. But I do it anyway. “I hope I didn’t wake up Lulu.”
“Shut up. Get your things. You’re coming home with me.”
“And Lulu?”
“God, Shey, you’re a pain in the ass. Lulu’s in Houston for the weekend, okay?”
Chapter Fifteen
We arrive at his estate twenty-five minutes later, parking in front of the hulking house built from creamy Texas stone, the front facade marked with long shady porches and thick wood support columns. “This place always takes my breath away,” I tell him.
Dane shifts into park and turns off the engine. “Biggest mistake of my life.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Two years designing it, one year to build it, endless arguments over the stone for the kitchen floor, the color stain on the living room beams, the right material for the fireplace. For what? None of it helped Matthew. It certainly didn’t improve my marriage.”
“Was it supposed to?”
“Good question.” He’s come around to open my door, and I slide out of the truck.
“The house was for Shellie Ann,” he adds. “The pool was for Matthew. I just wanted everybody happy.” He closes the door behind me and gestures to the front porch. “It’s late. I’ll show you your room.”
I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep in Dane’s guest room at the opposite end of the upstairs from his room, but the queen-size bed has an amazing mattress and the softest sheets. I fall asleep almost immediately and wake up hours later to a dark, quiet house. It takes me a moment to remember where I am. Then, when I do, I snuggle deeper into the bed’s warmth. For another few minutes I doze, trying to fall back asleep, but memories of the break-in return.
I shouldn’t have called Dane. Shouldn’t have turned to him just because I was scared.
A knock sounds on the door. “Shey, you awake?”
“Yes. Come in.”
But Dane doesn’t open the door, just talks through it. “I talked to Brick earlier. He wants you to call him.”
This is news, as he and Brick don’t talk. I slide out of bed and open the door. “He called you?”
“I called him.” Dane’s voice is flat, no-nonsense, making it clear that he didn’t want to call Brick but didn’t have an option. “He wanted to head back this morning and clean up things, but I told him we were handling it and that everything would be fixed by the time he arrived so there was no point in cutting his trip to see Carolyn short.”
“I’ll call him right now,” I promise.
Dane nods and turns away. He’s wearing work jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved thermal shirt the color of oatmeal, and as good as he looked from the front—the Henley-style shirt plays up his jaw and thick hair—he looks even better from the back.
“Stop staring and call your brother,” Dane snaps over his shoulder as he heads toward the stairs.
“Can’t help it,” I answer. “You’re still smokin’ for an old guy.”
He pauses at the top of the stairs to give me a reproving look.
I just smile, feeling a bit of the young, rebellious Shey rise up in me. He’s hot, seriously hot, and maybe he’s Lulu’s, but I can still enjoy looking at him.
Dane isn’t having any of it, though. “When are you going to grow up, Shey Lynne?”
“When are you going to get ugly?”
“Be careful, Shey.”
“Why?” I flash, butterflies flitting wildly inside me. I love it when he’s all tough and macho. Love the energy, crave the sexual tension. I never had this with John. We had companionship, friendship, comfort, but never this fierce, raw desire. And I like feeling this way. It makes me feel young and alive.
“Just saying, be careful. Don’t start something you can’t handle.”
A shiver races through me. My eyebrows lift. “That I can’t handle?”
“Just saying.” He holds my gaze a moment and then disappears down the stairs.
I stand there after he’s gone, feeling a delicious naughtiness that is so unlike me. These days I’m more maternal than sexual, yet the sexual part is pretty dang fun.
Returning to the bedroom, I replay the conversation, wondering if he really said what I think he said. Don’t start something that I can’t handle.
Interesting. And what exactly did he mean by that?
Still keyed up, I open the blinds at the window and am greeted by blue sky and wan November sunshine. From the upstairs windows, I get a glimpse of a shimmering dark blue pool surrounded by pale limestone pavers and shaded by two mature oaks that have been gracefully pruned.
This is a beautiful place. A dream estate. I could be so happy here.
I pull up an armchair to the window, then curl my legs under me and call Brick on Cooper’s cell phone.
“Coop?” Brick answers immediately.
“No, it’s Shey. I’m using Cooper’s phone. Mine was in my purse and it was taken.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“Scared?”
“I was last night, but I’m good today.”
He hesitates. “Dane said the guy got in through the kitchen door.”
“Kicked it in. Made a mess of the door and frame.”
“I should have replaced that door years ago. It’s never been strong. Don’t know why I didn’t.”
“Because it’s not your house, and you’ve been raising two kids and working a big ranch without a lot of help.”
“You could have been hurt—”
“But I wasn’t.”
“Glad you called Dane.” He hesitates, his voice dropping and deepening. “Guess I owe him one.”
“That’s ridiculous. You don’t owe him anything, and he doesn’t owe you. And I do wish you guys would end this ridiculous feud. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“Yes, it is, especially since Dane has been there for you—”
“Here for me? I’m the one who is always there for him. On the circuit. At the hospital. During rehab. When Matt was born and again when he died—”
“Because that’s what friends do!”
“You haven’t even been there twelve hours and Kelly’s already got you brainwashed.”
“Aw, Brick, is this really you saying all this? Because it’s not the Brick I know. The Brick I know would give the shirt off his back for a stranger—”
“I’ll be back tonight. Tell Dane thanks for everything—”
“No. Don’t come back tonight. I don’t need or want your help. I’m an adult. I’ve run a successful business, and I can manage to get the door fixed on the house I’m living in.” And then I hang up on the big brother I’ve always adored.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m stepping out of the shower when Blue calls me on Cooper’s phone. I wrap the towel tightly around my chest and pick up, knowing that Brick and Blue have just talked.
“Shey, it’s Blue.”
“I know,” I answer tartly, hitching my towel higher and sitting back against the bathroom counter. “Coop’s phone has caller ID.”
“Why are you mad at me?” he asks, mildly surprised.
“Why do you think?”
“You women l
ove your guessing games.”
“So you haven’t just talked to Brick.”
“Lord.”
“And he didn’t just tell you I was staying at Dane’s? And you haven’t called to say you’re on the way to pick me up?”
Blue is silent. And then he chuckles. “Mama said you didn’t need saving.”
“No, I don’t. Not from you or Brick. Because I’ve had it with both of you.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, it is. And here’s another one, Blue Callen. Dane’s not the bad guy. He did nothing wrong by trying to help Cody, and I’m sick and tired of you and Brick turning Dane into the enemy. You two should be ashamed of yourselves. You’ve both got wives and kids and busy family lives. Dane has no one but us. We were like his family.”
“Okay, sugar, got your point, now reel it back in.”
“No.” I’m even more angry now than when he first called. “I’m not going to reel it in. I don’t need you making decisions for me. And I don’t need you and Brick talking about me like gossipy old ladies with nothing else to do.”
“Gossipy old ladies?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, don’t worry, sugar. You won’t hear from this gossipy old lady for a while.”
And then he hangs up.
I look down at the phone in my hand and exhale. This day isn’t going well at all.
It’s a clear but cold late November morning, so I dress in my favorite old jeans, boots, and a black long-sleeved turtleneck before heading downstairs to find Dane. I track him down in the kitchen, where he’s pouring a cup of coffee.
“Got enough for me?” I ask, perching on one of the black wrought-iron stools at the counter.
“It is for you,” he answers, sliding the cup my way.
“Thanks.”
“I talked to the sheriff’s department just a little bit ago. You didn’t tell me that the guy got your purse, too.”
“I did.”
“Well, you’ve got a lot of calls to make. Cancel those cards, get new ID.”
“You can be just as bossy as my brothers.”
“Just looking out for you.”
“I appreciate that. And just so you know, I made most of those calls I needed to make before coming downstairs. I froze my checking account. Closed one of my credit cards. I think I have a handle on everything.”
“That’s good.”
My lips curve at his tone. He’s definitely in a prickly mood, but I don’t press because I’m curious about his house. I glance around, wondering if I can spot Lulu here. But the house is surprisingly impersonal. The architecture and interior are handsome, the furniture well appointed, the artwork expensive, but it feels cool, almost sterile, without plants or knickknacks or framed photos.
“I take it you don’t like clutter,” I say, noting that the granite kitchen counters are clear, the mantel in the adjacent great room is empty, the low trestle-style coffee table is clean. I’m reminded of a house that’s been staged to sell, and it makes me sad. Dane isn’t a money guy. He’s never cared about personal possessions. Yet this house smacks of money and lacks love.
My hands circle the mug. “I thought you’d have pictures of Matthew somewhere.”
I’ve caught him off guard. As he stiffens, I see such grief in his face that I wish I hadn’t mentioned Matthew.
“I’ve put them in my study. They make Lulu uncomfortable.”
My eyes sting and I blink hard. Screw Lulu. I dislike her even more now.
“Can you show me? I’d love to see pictures of him.”
Dane nods and heads for his study. I pick up my mug and follow.
Dane’s study is a small paneled room at the back of the house. Framed photos of bulls hang on the wall, but there are no trophies, award saddles, or buckles on the bookcase. But on his desk are a cluster of photographs, and Dane lifts one, hands it to me. It’s Dane holding a newborn baby wrapped in a hospital blanket. Oxygen tubes are taped to the infant’s nose, but it’s Dane’s eyes in the picture that hold me rapt. I look at the wonder in his eyes. Look at the love.
“He was just a little guy,” I say, voice husky with tears I won’t cry.
“Not quite five pounds.” Dane hands me another framed picture, this of a towheaded toddler propped up on a couch, surrounded by stuffed cows. “Matt loved cows,” Dane adds with a smile. “I think he said ‘moo’ before ‘Mama’ or ‘Dada.’ ”
Dane is breaking my heart right now.
“Definitely your boy,” I say, swapping photos with Dane as he hands me a third. Matthew’s in a small wheelchair in this one, his head slumped to the right. But he’s laughing and his eyes are a brilliant blue green and his baby teeth are white and straight and he’s full of joy. Full of Kelly charm and charisma.
“Your mother must have doted on him,” I say, aware that as an only child, Dane got lots of attention from his mother but not the right kind from his father. Dane’s dad was a hard man, sometimes too hard. Growing up, Dane had it rough.
“She did. She’d do anything for him, and Mattie knew it. My mom was probably his favorite person. Mom could always soothe him, even when he wasn’t feeling well. She spent hours in the rocker, just holding him, singing to him—” He breaks off, takes a quick breath. “I’ve always believed that cancer killed her because Mattie was gone. If Matthew had lived, Mom could have fought the disease. But without Matthew, she didn’t want to fight.”
“What year did she die?”
“In 1999. Just before I won my third and final championship.”
I can see he welcomes the change of subject. “She might not have been at the finals, but she knew you won. She was always so proud of you.”
“My mom was a good woman,” he agrees, taking the third photo from me and placing them all back on his desk so that they face his chair.
I follow him to the door, glancing at the eight framed bull photos lining the wall. “I take it these are your stars?”
He nods, turning out the light. “They’re all rank bulls, and the basis of my breeding program. Each one has competed in the nationals, and Dark Angel there is my three-time Bull of the Year.”
“Was it hard to switch from riding to breeding?”
“I’m a fourth-generation cattleman, breeding’s in the blood. What’s been a challenge is getting the PBR to protect the bulls as much as the riders. A good bull is upwards of fifty thousand dollars—Dark Angel was my first hundred-thousand-dollar bull—and they’re as important to the event as the rider,” he answers, closing the study door and continuing down the hall.
We return to the kitchen, where Dane offers to scramble me some eggs. I answer that I’d be just as happy with toast. Then, with toast and a refill on coffee, I head outside with him to start the day.
The poplars lining Dane’s drive are nearly all bare now. Piles of yellow-and-brown leaves pillow the ground and crunch beneath my boots as I walk. I can’t resist kicking one pile as I climb into his black truck and giggle as I send leaves flying.
Dane glances at me quizzically. “You’re never going to grow up, are you.”
“Hope not,” I answer, closing the door.
He sighs, but I see a twinkle in his eye and know he’s enjoying my silliness. I don’t think Dane has a lot of people in his life who allow him to be foolish. But he needs the foolishness and silliness. He needs to laugh. We all need to laugh.
Dane is driving the back roads on our way to the building supply store on the outskirts of town. Since it’s the day after Thanksgiving, the roads are empty, and I study the landmark trees and fences and ghostly gas stations with passing interest. I like small towns and old buildings and fences that are falling apart. They have character. I like character.
“There’s something I want to say to you,” I say as we approach Mineral Wells. “But you’re not going to like it.”
He shoots me a side glance. “That’s never stopped you before.”
“I know, but you’re going to say it’s none of my busin
ess. And you’re right, it’s not, but I care about you, Dane—”
“Just say it. I hate it when women beat around the bush.”
Fine. I’ll give it to him straight, then. “Lulu’s wrong,” I say bluntly. “Those pictures of Matthew should be all over the house where you can see them and enjoy them. She has no business telling you to put them in your office. And why would they make her uncomfortable?”
“Because he died.”
I see red, and I just completely snap. “Lord, I hate her. I do, Dane. I realize I don’t know her. I realize she might be a very nice lady. But she’s not the right lady for you. You were Matthew’s dad. You will always be his dad. And putting those pictures in your study changes nothing—”
“I know.”
He’s pulled into the store parking lot, parks in an empty space, and turns off the ignition. I just stare at him. “Are you in love with her?”
He swings open his door. “Let’s just get the supplies we need and get to your house.”
“Just answer me. Do you love her?”
His green eyes meet mine. His jaw is hard, expression flinty. “No. I don’t love her.”
“But she’s living with you now?”
“No.”
“Coop said she’d moved in.”
He grabs his cane and steps out. “If you’d rather listen to a twelve-year-old—”
“I wouldn’t. That’s why I’m asking you.”
We face each other on the asphalt. “Lulu’s having her house remodeled. She needed somewhere to stay while they gutted and painted and whatever else they’re doing to the interior.”
“So she’s just there temporarily.”
Dane rolls his eyes. “Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Now can we just pick up what we need and get over to your house?”
The lumberyard has the door and frame waiting for us, and while they’re both being loaded into the back of the truck, Dane picks up new locks, hardware, and a couple of cans of primer and paint. With everything charged to his account, we return to his truck and start for my house.
By the time we reach the ranch house, it’s almost eleven. I knew it would be a mess, but I’d forgotten just how bad it is.
She’s Gone Country Page 20