She’s Gone Country

by Jane Porter; Jane Porter

  Once all the gifts are open, I clean up torn wrapping paper and strewn ribbon and find myself thinking about Dane.

  I wonder what he’s doing in Brazil for Christmas. I wonder how he’s celebrating, or if he’s even celebrating. I wish now I’d sent a small gift with him. Just so he’d have something to open.

  I carry an armful of crumpled paper outside to the garbage can, and as I smash it down, Charlotte comes out with an armful of her own.

  “You okay, hon?” she asks me, pushing her paper on top of mine.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “You seem kind of down.”

  “Oh, I’m good. I’m not down. I’m just thinking about Dane.”

  “You two have been seeing a lot of each other. Is it getting serious?”

  I can see us from the other night, having dinner at Dane’s house, sitting on the couch in front of the fire. It was a cozy dinner. Fun and romantic and real.

  It feels right when I’m with him. I feel right. I feel like myself. I don’t have to pretend with him. I don’t have to project anything or sell anything. I just have to be me—Shey—not the supermodel or the glamour girl.

  Charlotte’s still waiting for an answer and her expression is so sweet and hopeful it makes me want to hug her. “I hope so,” I say, smiling crookedly. “I’m still pretty crazy about that guy.”

  The next morning, I print the boys’ boarding passes and am trying to get them to close their luggage and load the back of the truck, but Lacey senses that something’s up and keeps climbing into Bo’s open bag and lying down inside. Even Hank has to laugh at Lacey’s antics, but finally the bags are zipped, packed, and the boys are in the truck. Lacey’s in the truck, too, coming along for the ride.

  At the airport, I hug and kiss each of the boys good-bye while Lacey whines from the truck. “Love you,” I tell each of them. “Call me when you can.”

  Bo gives me an extra hug. “Love you, Mom. Thanks for helping me.”

  “Always, baby.”

  And then they’re off, and I hold my breath as I watch them walk into the terminal, the air bottled inside me until they disappear through the tinted glass doors. It’s then that I exhale.

  My boys.

  My heart.

  On the drive back to the ranch, Lacey lies with her muzzle on my thigh. Every now and then she sighs heavily, and I reach down to rub her ears and pat her back. “I understand, girl,” I tell her after yet another sigh. “I feel the same way you do.”

  I’m on the outskirts of Mineral Wells when I realize I don’t want to go straight home. Leaving Lacey in the truck, I stop in at the Kountry Kitchen for a quick French dip sandwich.

  It’s noon and the café is crowded, and I end up taking a seat at the long counter since I don’t want to wait for a table. Traci sees me and comes over to take my order.

  “I thought you worked nights,” I tell her, surprised to see her in the café now.

  “Phyllis wanted off to hit the sales, and I’m trying to pick up all the hours I can during vacation. It’s easier working holidays than during school.”

  “You work a lot.”

  “I have to. I want to go to FIDM—Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising. It’s in California. Have you heard of it?”

  “I have.”

  “It’s supposed to be good, and moving to California doesn’t sound as scary as New York.”

  “Good for you. I’m proud of you for setting such clear goals.”

  “My mom laughs at me. She doesn’t think I can do it.”

  “Does that upset you?”

  “It used to, now I just see it as a challenge.” Traci smiles. “I can’t wait to prove her wrong.”

  The week without Dane and the boys doesn’t pass quite as slowly as I expected, since my gorgeous niece Carolyn is home and Charlotte’s taken the week off to spend it with her. Carolyn and Charlotte include me in their girl fun.

  Monday we go shopping. Tuesday we meet Emily and her daughters for afternoon tea at the Rosewood Mansion on Turtle Creek. Wednesday I plan to stay home, but I get a call from Rae at the Stars of Dallas agency with a job offer.

  “I know it’s last-minute and New Year’s is just two days away, but the fashion director for Neiman Marcus personally requested you and I’m hoping by some miracle you’re free.”

  “When is it?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I can do it.”

  “It’s in Seattle. Well, Bellevue, actually. Neiman has a new store there—and they’re celebrating their one-year anniversary with a huge party and fashion show, and their big-name model fell off the catwalk during rehearsal this morning and broke her ankle. Can you fill in for her?”

  Marta lives in Bellevue. I haven’t seen Marta since last December, when I attended Zach’s baptism. I’d love to see Marta, but even if she’s not there, it’s still a great opportunity. The kids aren’t here. Dane’s gone. There’s no reason not to go. “Yes,” I answer decisively.

  “There’s a six p.m. flight. Can you be on it?”

  “Definitely.”

  As soon as I hang up I call Marta, hoping against hope she’s home and free. I’ve gone a year without seeing her, but now that I know I’ll just be minutes from her house, I have to see her.

  She answers just before the call goes to voice mail.

  “Ta, it’s Shey,” I say. “I’ve just been booked for a job in Bellevue. Are you home right now, or are you away?”

  “I’m home, definitely home. When would you arrive?”

  “Tonight. I’m catching the six o’clock flight to Seattle. I’ll land around nine.”

  “Luke will come pick you up.”

  “Let me just grab a cab.”

  “Absolutely not. And you’re staying here.” She pauses. “You don’t mind the kids, though? Because it’s one noisy house.”

  I laugh. “I don’t mind, Marta, and I can’t wait to meet the twins.”

  My flight’s delayed and I don’t arrive in Seattle until ten-thirty, but Luke is there as promised. He’s an imposing-looking man—six seven and all muscle. The first time Marta saw him, she was sure he was a professional football player. Instead he’s a businessman with a soft spot for nonprofits.

  It doesn’t snow often in Seattle, but snow glitters on the big trees and the side of the freeway as Luke drives to Bellevue. “When did it snow?” I ask, enjoying the clear night with the luminous sweep of stars overhead.

  “Two days ago. But it’s been really cold, so it hasn’t melted yet.”

  Marta’s waiting up for us when we arrive at the house. She’s still slim, but her long dark hair is shorter now and hits just below her shoulders with some blunt pieces around her face to frame her eyes and cheekbones.

  “Your hair!” I exclaim. “When did you cut it?”

  “This fall. Do you hate it?”

  “No. It looks great. Very stylish.”

  “I couldn’t cope with all the hair and the babies. Something had to give,” she confesses as we sit on the oversize couch in the living room.

  “Pretty brutal, huh?” I sympathize, as she’s really been slammed. Three babies under the age of two.

  “It’s been a lot harder than I expected, and maybe it’s because I’m still nursing and they’re not great sleepers, but I crave sleep like it’s a drug.”

  “Soon they’ll be sleeping through the night. Hang in there.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Do you need more help?”

  “Can you reproduce me?” she answers with a laugh. “Because I don’t know how to do everything anymore.”

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to do everything,” I say.

  “I know, and I’ve cut back at work for the next six months. I’ve handed all my big accounts off to others and only appear in the office two mornings a week.”

  “Do you miss work?”

  “I’m a workaholic, you know that. But being a mom is nonstop. It’s brutal. We don’t get enough credit. We really don’t.”


  We stay up talking until midnight, when Marta confesses she has to go to bed or she won’t be able to get up for the two o’clock feeding.

  I do not miss middle-of-the-night feedings.

  I frankly don’t miss the baby stage at all.

  The fashion show is in the lobby of the beautiful new Bravern shopping center, which is also home to the sparkling Neiman Marcus. The store itself will host the glamorous black-tie afterparty.

  Upon arriving at the Bravern, I’m whisked to a final fitting and then join the others in the final run-through before this afternoon’s fashion show.

  Most of the models are really young—late teens and early twenties—girls half my age, but I’m comfortable being older. I like being older. At twenty-two, I worried about freckles and pimples and if my stomach pooched. I don’t anymore. Today when I walk, I own the runway, and I don’t walk, I strut. I love my strut, too. It’s my signature walk—it’s a little high in the knee and heavy through the heel, and it makes my hair bounce.

  As I hit the bottom of the runway to pause and pose, I can see the younger models watching from the wings. I don’t mind that, either. I’m a lucky woman and a happy woman, and I’ve achieved more than I ever dreamed.

  The fashion show goes off without a hitch, and I have an amazing time, particularly as I’ve managed to sneak Marta’s twelve-year-old daughter, Eva, into a front-row seat. She beams at me throughout the show, and as I pass her on my final walk, I wink at her and she loves it.

  I might be a mom to boys, but even I know that girls rule.

  I stay in Bellevue until New Year’s Day, and then hop on a flight midafternoon to coincide with the boys’ return to Dallas. My flight arrives an hour before theirs, and I hang out at their gate waiting for them.

  I’m flipping through W magazine in a great mood as I think about the past three days spent in the Pacific Northwest with Marta, Luke, and kids. It was a rushed trip and New Year’s Eve was spent with Marta and her gang at home, but Eva had Luke buy us all party hats and noisemakers and we watched the Times Square ball drop together. Well, Marta, Luke, Eva, and I watched. Zach and the babies were asleep. Thank God.

  Now, as I flip through the magazine and pause to study a sleek navy wrap dress, I wonder what day it is. New Year’s Day, yes, but what day of the week? Thursday? Friday? Saturday?

  I count backward to Christmas. Christmas Day was Saturday. Today’s New Year’s Day. That’s a week. That means today is Saturday.

  My pulse beats a little faster now, and I close the magazine and count the days again, making sure I have it all right.

  Saturday’s the key. For the past however many years, my period always starts on Saturday. Every twenty-eight days without fail.

  I count the weeks again. My last period was in November. Thanksgiving weekend, the Saturday following the break-in. I was staying at Dane’s house.

  My period was due Christmas Day. It’s five weeks since my last period.

  I’m seven days late. I’ve never even been two days late.

  Except the three times I was pregnant.

  Oh, my God. The oversize W magazine slides from my lap to the ground.

  I’m pregnant.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Bo and Coop return to me in high spirits. They had a good time with their father and entertain me with their stories as I drive us home. I smile and nod at all the right places, but privately I’m in agony.

  Can I really be pregnant when I don’t feel remotely pregnant? I rack my brain trying to remember my previous early pregnancy symptoms and come up with none. I don’t get pregnant easily, but once pregnant I’ve always felt good and had easy pregnancies at that.

  But this…

  This was not supposed to have happened this way.

  We arrive home, and the boys are thrilled that Brick has dropped Lacey off already. Brick and Char kept Lacey while I was gone, and now Bo rolls around the living room floor with her while Coop checks the fridge for something to eat.

  “Mom, look what Aunt Char did,” he shouts from the kitchen.

  I join him at the refrigerator and see that she’s made us a welcome-home dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and her famous baked beans. A note is taped to the casserole dish of chicken: “Call me, Char.”

  I call Char immediately to thank her, thinking she’s eager to hear all about my trip to Bellevue. But she’s bursting with news of her own.

  “Shey, have you heard?”

  “Heard what?” I ask, pulling out a kitchen chair to sit down.

  “Blue’s left Emily.”

  I’m suddenly glad I’m sitting down. “He what?”

  “He moved out. And Mama’s moving home.”

  “What?” My voice rises an entire octave.

  “She’s here now, staying with us, and she’s going to tell you tomorrow but I thought I should warn you first.”

  I feel positively faint now and put my head into my hand. “Where’s Mama going to live?”

  Char hesitates. “With you.”

  “Sweet Jesus.” My mind is completely boggled. Mama back on the ranch. Mama living here, with us?

  “Shey,” Char adds in a small voice, “that’s not quite all.”

  How can that not be all? What else can possibly go wrong? But then I remember the old adage, that things happen in threes. “What?” I ask.

  “Dane’s a big story in the news today.”

  “Dane?”

  “He just signed what’s being called a lucrative deal with FOX, joining the announcers in the PBR booth for the next five years.”

  I’m stunned to silence.

  “He’s their new star,” she adds. “At least in the broadcasting booth. Didn’t you know? I thought he might have told you about it.”

  I know Dane had a conversation with Ty Murray Thanksgiving weekend about broadcasting, but I didn’t know he’d decided to do it. “No.”

  “It’s going to involve a lot of travel. He’ll spend up to five months at a time on the road.”

  I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked. And scared. A five-year contract, to travel five months of each year? What am I going to do? What are we going to do? I’m two months shy of forty and I’m having a baby and Dane’s not even going to be around. “I can’t believe it.”

  “You’re not happy,” Charlotte says.

  “No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know.” My voice quavers and I jam my hand against my mouth, imagining a life with a baby without him. And then I imagine him giving up this job when I break the news about the baby. And then I imagine living with my Southern Baptist mama while I raise a baby on my own…

  It’s a nightmare, no matter how you look at it.

  Sex was supposed to be sex. We weren’t supposed to be making a baby.

  “What about Dane’s business?” I say after a moment, struggling to absorb everything. “How can he manage his bulls and the travel?”

  “That’s the blessing. Dane talked to Brick in early December about forming a partnership with him if he took the broadcasting job, but Dane hadn’t made up his mind at that point. Said he wanted to talk it over with you.” Charlotte pauses. “But I take it he didn’t.”

  “No.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I have to admit I’m surprised Brick agreed.”

  “I’m not. It’s been a hard year on the ranch. As you know from doing the books, we’re in the red lately more than the black.” Her voice suddenly thickens with emotion, too. “Dane’s doing us a huge favor.”

  “But things have been so strained between them.”

  “And things are still strained. I don’t know if it’ll ever be the same, but hopefully working together will keep them from being at each other’s throats—”

  Another call is coming through, and I check to see who it is. Dane Kelly.

  My stomach does a quick rise and fall. “Char, it’s Dane.”

  “Talk to him, and fill me in later.”

  I click over to take Dane’s call. “Hey, Dane.”
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  “Happy New Year, darlin’.”

  “Happy New Year to you, too.”

  “How’s your day?”

  “Interesting. I’ve just arrived back from Seattle to all kinds of news.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Blue’s left Emily. Mama’s moving back to the ranch. And you’ve just signed a big contract with the PBR to join FOX’s broadcast team.”

  “So you’ve heard already. I’d hoped to tell you myself.”

  “Char said it’s been all over the news.”

  “I’ve been in meetings all day. I’d hoped to reach you earlier.” He pauses. “What do you think?”

  What do I think? I think it’s overwhelming. Not just his news, but mine. I take a deep breath. “So you’ll be traveling a lot.”

  “That’s a definite drawback, but I thought with your kids getting bigger, maybe you could join me on the road now and then. It could be fun.”

  He doesn’t sound excited, he sounds tired. But I’m not surprised, as it’s probably been a long day with endless meetings and press conferences. “Have you managed to crack open a bottle of champagne yet?”

  “Haven’t had a chance. It’s been nonstop here all day.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Pueblo, Colorado, at PBR’s headquarters. I’ve been here all week hammering out the deal and am scheduled to return tomorrow.”

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. How was your New Year’s in Seattle?”

  “Good. Low-key, but nice.”

  “Sounds like mine.” He hesitates. “So when do I get to see you?”

  “Is tomorrow too soon?”

  “I’ll come by as soon as I land.”

  After hanging up, I go get my purse and car keys. I have one more thing to do before I can call it a day.

  I hit the convenience store in Palo Pinto. It’s closer than Mineral Wells, and even though it’s New Year’s Day, convenience stores are always open.

  The heels of my boots click on the linoleum floor of the 7-Eleven as I search the aisles, looking for diapers, feminine hygiene products, and pregnancy test kits. I know they’ll carry them. Where else do teenagers go to buy theirs?

  I pay and stuff the box into the bottom of my purse.