Home on the Range

by Susan Fox

  The sun had set, the air was cool, and the mosquitoes were coming out. The other guests had headed into the tepee and they should, too, but the conversation about children didn’t seem finished. She might not want him to be Robin’s father, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a good father to other children, if he ever decided that was what he wanted. Tonight, for the first time, she’d heard ambivalence in his voice when he talked about kids.

  “If you and Cynthia did decide to have children,” she said, “there’s nothing to say you couldn’t be a real father. In five or ten years, you might be ready to cut back on your work hours, read to your kid, teach him or her how to skate.”

  He shook his head slowly. “That’s part of why I don’t want kids. I’d have no idea how to go about being a good parent. I’ve no experience with children, and my parental role models were disastrous.”

  Oh God, this conversation was just too tough. And yet, he’d been her best friend. She truly cared what happened to him. And so she said, “That’s a cop-out, Evan.”

  It was getting dark quickly now and she couldn’t make out the details of his face, but she could feel his anger.

  Fine, let him be mad, but she was going to have her say. “Be honest with yourself. If you really don’t want children, that’s fine. But if you’re looking for role models, just think of my parents. Besides, all you’d really have to do is look inside yourself. You’re a fine man, and . . .” She sucked in a breath, then told him the truth, a truth she’d just as soon not recognize herself. “I think you’d make a good father.”

  He didn’t respond, but her instincts told her his anger was dissolving. Then, quietly, he said, “Thanks.”

  “Sounds like it’s an issue you and Cynthia need to resolve. But I do see how hard it must be, both of you trying to guess how you’re going to feel about things years down the road.”

  He moved closer, and his shirtsleeve brushed hers. “How about you, Jess? Do you think you’ll get married again?”

  “No.” The answer came quickly. The only men she’d ever loved were Evan and Dave. Now, seeing Evan again, it was impossible for her to imagine loving anyone else.

  Unmusical squeaks and squawks suddenly filled the night air. Recalled to her duties, she said, relieved, “Oh gosh, everyone’s inside and the musicians are tuning up. I’m shirking my job. And you’d better go and get a songbook.”

  “A songbook?”

  “We don’t expect folks to know all the words, so we have them printed out. You’ll see.” She forced a smile and started toward the tepee.

  Behind her, Evan groaned. “You did promise me hokey.”

  Inside, Jess made sure everyone was comfortable on the rustic wooden benches circling the crackling fire in the firepit. Marty was serving mulled wine and hot chocolate with her usual efficiency and cheer.

  Jess participated in the standard introductory repartee with Hank and Gavin, the two local men who between them played guitar, banjo, fiddle, and harmonica, and sang as well. She helped Marty hand out songbooks and jolly the shyer guests into joining in on the first song, a catchy, rather ridiculous, old classic, “She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain.” As usual, the Crazy Horse worked its insidious spell, and by the time they’d reached the line about killing the old red rooster when she comes, even Evan was singing.

  Then the musicians began a sprightly fiddle tune and Jess and Jimmy B did a lively two-step. After a couple of minutes, each of them hauled a guest to his or her feet. She was tempted to pick Evan for her partner, but there were so many reasons that was a dumb idea. Instead she chose Aaron, a young married man who seemed game for anything.

  After quickly teaching him the steps, she turned him over to his wife and selected another guest. Again, not Evan. He sat out the first number, then succumbed to Joan’s pleas and joined in with good grace. There weren’t enough men to go around and soon the women were dancing with other women, and then everyone began to change partners in a mad whirl. The tunes were lively and Jess swung from arm to arm, occasionally noticing that the arm, the smiling face, was Evan’s.

  When they were teenagers, she’d gone to the school dances with a group of friends and danced with the boys—all the boys except the one she really wanted to be with. Evan had boycotted the dances. How strange, now, to be whirling about in the same room.

  When the music stopped, the guests were panting and laughing. Hank untied the red bandanna from his throat and wiped his sweaty face. “We’re going to have a sing-along, folks; then it’ll be time for me and Gavin to take a break.”

  Jess found herself on a bench between Evan and Sandy as Marty refilled everyone’s mugs.

  “Okay, listen up,” Hank said. “We’re gonna have a little battle of the sexes here. Anyone see Annie Get Your Gun?”

  Several hands went up.

  “Then you know that anything you can do, I can do better.”

  The people who knew the musical chuckled. Evan turned to Jess with a questioning look.

  “It’s a song from the show,” she said, with a grin.

  Hank said, “You gals, you’re gonna sing Annie Oakley’s part, and us men are gonna be Buffalo Bill. And we’re gonna outholler you!”

  “No, you’re not,” Jess called on cue. “’Cause anything you guys can do, we gals can do ten times better.”

  Amid catcalls and hoots of laughter, the musicians began to play and, after a tentative beginning, everyone was belting out the humorous song. Evan, too.

  Jess thought of how many times she’d done this. She could go through the motions in her sleep. But tonight it felt different.

  She always enjoyed these evenings, but now the fire smelled more pungent, the mulled wine was spicier, and the singing was more boisterous. The scent of Sandy’s perfume was like lilacs on a summer afternoon. Evan smelled faintly of lime, which surprised her; she’d have expected something more sophisticated. As he turned a page in the songbook, his sleeve brushed hers and she shivered.

  His voice was deep and rich. She’d never heard him sing before. Never seen him dance, much less danced with him. Never seen him on a horse.

  If the old Evan had been attractive to her, this one—with the firm, pure-male body and the willingness to experience her world—was far more so. She shivered again.

  He stopped singing and leaned close. “Cold?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. How about you?”

  “I’m good.” His eyes held hers. “Very good.”

  Her heart turned a somersault. She forced herself to break the gaze, and stared at her songbook, at words she’d memorized years ago. No, no, no, she couldn’t let herself fall into this stupid trap again. Couldn’t toss her heart into the hands of a man who’d never be hers, who was in love with another woman.

  When the song ended, Hank and Gavin said they were taking a short break, and Jess jumped to her feet. She had to socialize; it was her job. But mostly, she needed to get away from Evan’s disturbing presence.

  Evan sat still, watching the other guests mingle and chat or wander outside in search of outhouses. Jess had abandoned him and was chatting with Sandy, the software developer from Seattle.

  The inside of the tepee was dim, lit only by the dancing flames of the impressive bonfire Jimmy B tended. The tent smelled of wood smoke with an undertone of something fruity. Didn’t people burn apple or cherry branches sometimes, or was the aroma coming from the mulled wine Marty was serving?

  Across the circle, Jess had moved along and was now talking to Aaron. Sylvia, Aaron’s wife, sat on Evan’s left, engaged in an animated conversation on orchid growing with Kim. To his right, Ann and Joan shared thoughts on raising children. Evan had nothing to contribute to the conversations on either side and felt as socially unskilled as when he was a teenager.

  In Manhattan, conversations focused on business, world events, or critiquing a play or musical performance. People, at least in his crowd, didn’t just chat aimlessly. They didn’t waste time. The guests at the Crazy Horse
often did talk business, but the relaxed evening atmosphere had turned people’s thoughts to family and hobbies. He had neither.

  This night really wasn’t working out. Alone, he was uncomfortable with the other guests. With Jess, he was uncomfortable for a different reason. No, for several really bad reasons.

  He wished he could leave and head back to his cabin, but he’d never find his way in the dark. He was stranded.

  Stranded in this tepee, and stranded at the Crazy Horse. Out of his natural element, out of the city where he’d built a self-image as a confident, competent professional. Here he was just Evan Kincaid. No one knew him. Probably no one wanted to. Why would they? What was there to know, besides the fact that he was a successful investment counselor?

  He was relieved when the musicians returned and started to play a song with a humorous name—“I’veGot Friends in Low Places”—and a catchy chorus.

  Evan did know how to dance—lessons had been part of his program to turn himself into a cultured man—but definitely not to this kind of music. Still, he didn’t protest when Ann grabbed his hand and pulled him up. It was better than sitting alone.

  When the next piece began, Beth and Kim each latched on to one of his arms and cried, “Line dancing!” He didn’t know what line dancing was, but it proved to be an awful lot like an aerobics workout.

  Next, a flushed Sandy claimed him.

  Jess stood beside Jimmy B, both of them clapping time and cheering the dancers. After a few minutes, Sandy tugged Evan over in their direction. “No slackers now,” the young woman panted. “If we’re going to make fools of ourselves, so are you.” She latched on to Jimmy B’s arm and pulled him into the fray.

  “Bet I can show you a thing or two, missy!” the elderly man shouted as he spun her away.

  “He will, too,” Jess said. “He’s a great dancer.”

  “And I’m hopeless,” Evan said. He stared at her for a moment, then decided it was silly to avoid dancing together. Or maybe he just couldn’t resist a legitimate reason for putting his arms around her. So he grabbed her hand and tugged. “Teach me how to do a proper two-step.”

  And there she was, in his arms, all warmth and curves, but the two of them were moving too fast for him to really savor the experience. Just as well, or he’d have had a hard-on.

  Laughing, almost shouting to be heard over the music and the other dancers, she called instructions. Once he knew the basic rules, he picked it up quickly.

  By the end of a couple of sprightly tunes, everyone was panting. Hank said, “All righty, folks, catch your breath. We’ll do ‘Red River Valley.’ ”

  When Gavin began to sing, his voice was so pure and true, such a perfect match to the plaintive words and music, that everyone held still, captured in the spell.

  From this valley they say you are going

  We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile

  Some of the dancers moved into each other’s arms and began to drift slowly to the music. No way could he turn down the opportunity to gather Jess closer, and she went without protest.

  She tilted her head up to him. “Thought you said you couldn’t dance.”

  Talking. That was a good thing. Better than thinking about how good her body felt, only inches from his. “Not the two-step.”

  Gavin continued singing:

  Just remember the Red River Valley

  And the cowboy who loved you so true

  Jess cleared her throat and moved back a couple of inches in the circle of his arms. “Dance a lot in New York?”

  Right, he was supposed to be talking. “There’s an occasional dinner dance or charity ball, but my social life tends more toward drinks, dinners, theatre.”

  He couldn’t concentrate—at least not on anything but the sensation of Jess in his arms and the battle against the arousal surging through him.

  “This is a pretty far stretch from what you’re used to,” she murmured.

  “Yeah, it’s different. But it’s actually . . . fun.” It was a revelation, and he missed a step. He caught the rhythm again. “I think folks are having more fun tonight than at clubs in Manhattan.”

  “That’s nice of you to say.”

  Do you think of the valley you’re leaving

  . . . And the pain you are causing to me?

  Had he caused her pain when he left Caribou Crossing? He must have, if she’d had a crush on him, then made love with him. If only he’d realized . . .

  What would he have done differently? Not made love to her. Kept their relationship as “just friends.”

  Jess fit so easily in his arms as they moved to the poignant rhythm of the music. For him, this was a peak experience, one he’d remember the rest of his life. For her . . . He wondered how many men she’d danced with over the years. “Do you go dancing other than on these Wednesday night hayrides?”

  “Occasionally at the Wild Rose Inn, Dave’s hotel. The bar gets hopping on a Saturday night, and there’s line dancing on Sunday evenings. Jimmy B and his wife give lessons.”

  “And whom do you dance with?”

  “Whoever’s around. Mostly Dave.”

  Dave again. “Sounds like you two are pretty tight.” Ridiculous to feel jealous, but maybe a guy always felt a little possessive of the first girl he’d made love with.

  “Yup. Neither of is into dating, so we hang out together.”

  He frowned. “You broke up, but you hang out together rather than date anyone else?” If they got along so damned well, why the hell had they broken up?

  She shrugged. “That’s how it is.”

  And if she’d broken up with Dave, why wasn’t she dating other men? “So,” he said tentatively, “why don’t you date?”

  “It’s a small town. I know the guys and no one interests me that way.”

  He could relate to that. Manhattan was huge, but he’d had trouble finding a woman he found physically attractive and intellectually stimulating. Until Cynthia. He cleared his throat and moved slightly away from Jess. “What about the guests here? Or is that taboo?”

  “There’d be no future in it.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  Just like there had never been a future for the two of them.

  He sensed she was thinking that, too. No future, and yet the present felt very good.

  They stopped talking, but their bodies had a communication of their own going on, one that was subtle and too damned sexy. It was all he could do to resist pulling her that last inch or two closer, so their bodies would press together as they danced. He reminded himself of Cynthia. It was okay to dance casually with an old friend, but a clutch-and-grab was definitely not.

  He was both sorry and relieved when Hank’s voice broke in. “Grab a seat, everyone. We’re gonna sing this next song together. It’s the last one for tonight, and it’s got a special place in our hearts.”

  The song turned out to be “Home on the Range.”

  As he sat beside Jess, Evan listened, rather than sang. Jess’s voice was pure, and she sang the words with feeling.

  I would not exchange my home on the range

  For all the cities so bright.

  It reminded him of the huge difference, the insurmountable difference, between the two of them.

  She didn’t look at him once, and as soon as the song ended, she sprang to her feet and went over to Jimmy B. “Time to round ’em up and head ’em out, pardner.”

  Evan trailed the group as they strolled to the wagon. He hung back as people hopped up and settled in. Knowing he was being stupid, he waited until Jess found her spot, then climbed up beside her.

  She shot him a startled glance but said nothing.

  “Oh my gosh, look at the stars!” one of the guests exclaimed, and everyone leaned back to do so.

  Evan’s “Wow” melded with the others’ exclamations. Never had he seen a sky so clear and velvety black, studded with so many sparkling stars. Had the skies been like this when he was a boy, and he’d never noticed? Had he neve
r looked up, all those times he walked home from the library when it closed at nine? Had his mother ever, just once, gazed up at the sky rather than getting plastered in the bar or sitting in front of the mind-numbing babble of TV, drinking beer and whining that there was nothing to do in this godforsaken place? Maybe if Brooke had seen the stars, she’d have taught him to look, too.

  Jimmy B chirruped to Harry and Sally, and the wagon was on its way. Evan shifted to find a comfortable position and breathed in the earthy scent of fresh hay. During the ride to the tepee, Jimmy B had told stories and kept the guests chatting. Now he was silent and people spoke softly, in hushed tones of reverence for the miracle they were experiencing.

  Evan listened to them marvel about the incredible canopy of stars, the purity of the air, and the virtuous ache of well-used muscles, their comments underlain by the jingle of the horses’ harnesses.

  Jess was beside him, lying back on the bed of hay, her hands behind her head. Her elbow brushed his hair.

  And he thought, This is Jess’s life. Every day, every night, is like this for her. Does she take it for granted?

  The answer, he knew, was that she both did and didn’t. She didn’t often stop to marvel, but somewhere deep in her bones was a certainty that this was good and right, that this was part of who she was. Appreciation was an elixir that flowed in her veins. It always had. But she’d never been able to explain it in a way he could relate to. To him, like to his mother, Caribou Crossing had been Hicksville, and he hadn’t seen—maybe hadn’t let himself see—anything good in it. Except Jess herself, and her parents. Now, for the first time, he felt he really understood her. Without her speaking a word of explanation.