From Here to There

by Rain Trueax

  "I'd never want to live anyplace else," Wes said, braking to avoid three deer that showed up alongside the road, their bright eyes reflecting back the headlights.

  "It's beautiful country," Phillip agreed, without saying anything about long term living in it.

  "You ever been to Chico?" Wes asked, shifting down for a corner.

  "Nope. Something I ought to know about it?" Phillip rested his arm behind the seat and encountered Wes's moving in the opposite direction. Both men quickly pulled their arms back.

  "It was a stage stop," Wes said, obviously determined to be the proper host. "It has a natural hot springs there. So it's been just about anything. Its current resurrection is as resort with a chef you can't beat anywhere."

  Phillip felt Helene's thigh against his, a reminder that his wife was looking extremely beautiful, that her tight pants did little to hide slender, long legs, that her touch was driving him crazy, and that despite a marriage certificate back in his suitcase, she didn't belong to him. He wondered what she'd done with the wedding ring. Had she thrown it into the garbage or was it hidden away as was his.

  For not the first time he regretted the wedding that wasn't the beginning of a marriage, wished he had put more effort into courting her, into finding out who she was before they married. Maybe... Too late for regrets. Those regrets were gradually shifting from wounded pride to something else, something he preferred not to inspect too closely.

  Wes glanced over at him before he listed off more attractions at Chico. "There's the cafe, gift shop, horse rental stable, log cabins, big swimming pool, hot tubs, masseuse, dance hall with live band on most week-ends, and, of course, the main hotel and restaurant."

  "Sounds interesting." Phillip could only hope his voice didn't reflect the lack of enthusiasm he was feeling. His day working with Curly had been long and hard. Between his tiredness and the effect Helene's nearness was having on his body, he felt incapable of matching wits with Carlson.

  They turned onto a narrow road, heading straight as an arrow for the hills. In the distance, Phillip saw lights and knew they must be the resort. If he'd had any doubts, his tour guide filled him in on more details. "This road is used as a landing strip when folks fly in from other parts. Tourists love this place."

  Phillip wondered, not for the first time, how Helene could be attracted to Wes Carlson. He seemed more like a salesman than this mythical man of the earth she had said she wanted.

  Parking the truck, Wes was at an impossible disadvantage in beating Phillip to the honor of handing Helene out of the truck. Never mind that Phillip knew she'd been in and out of trucks all her life. When he took her fine-boned hand, the touch jolted through him. He looked up into her amber eyes and saw a matching surprise in their clear depths. Before the moment could take on more meaning, Wes had rounded the truck and was standing waiting for them, still spouting off more facts about Chico, then what Phillip assumed were supposed to be amusing anecdotes about his prior visits.

  They were quickly seated at a good table in the nicely appointed but with rustic ambiance restaurant. The waitress efficiently took their orders for drinks, listed the chef’s nightly specials, and left them to study the menu.

  "The salmon is delicious," Wes suggested, pointing it out on the menu for those who couldn't read for themselves.

  Phillip nodded and managed to watch Helene through his lashes as she looked at the menu. Her shimmering top draped across her breasts, the outline of nipples faintly visible. He gritted his teeth at the impulses he had to fight against--grab her, drag her back to the ranch, and make love to her until she forgot Wes Carlson's name and was incapable of thinking about anything but him.

  He looked at her face, the way her dark lashes shadowed the ivory skin above high cheekbones. He wondered what she was thinking. Was this tall cowboy winning her over with his Western charm? Was this man she thought was a real man?

  Looking back at the list of foods in front of him, Phillip felt such a mixture of jealousy, desire, fear and frustration that he was incapable of making even a coherent decision on what to eat. He, who always knew what he wanted, no longer could decide on something as simple as dinner. Was this what being in love was like? If it was, he wanted no part of it. Love had let his mother down time after time. He had no doubt it would do the same to him.

  "What are you going to order?" Helene asked, her voice soft, her eyes pools of mystery as she reached across the table and lightly touched his hand.

  If he'd told her what he wanted, she'd have run from the room; so he said instead, "Whatever old Wes recommends. I'm in his hands."

  The waitress returned with their drinks. Wes proceeded to happily order for them all. "You know," he said, when the waitress had gone, "you two have the oddest divorce I've ever seen."

  Helene smiled at him, her thoughts impossible for Phillip to read. "And how should people behave during a divorce?"

  "Anger, arguing, not talking to each other except to work out property settlements, you know."

  "And how do you know we don't do that?" Helene asked, still smiling.

  "If you do, you sure hide it when I'm around. You seem like friends or something."

  "That's one thing we never were," Helene said cryptically.

  "Until now," Phillip corrected, sipping his white wine.

  She looked at him, still slightly bemused. "Possibly," she agreed finally.

  "So when's the divorce final?" Wes asked, a frown on his face as his gaze traveled between them.

  Phillip smiled. "What divorce?"

  "Why, the one between you two."

  "We haven't filed for it yet, have we, baby?"

  Helene gave him a warning glare. If he played rough here, she would tell Wes the truth--that what she wanted was an annulment. That would certainly spike Phillip's guns.

  "You sure weren't married long before you knew it had been a mistake," Wes said, brazenly probing for information.

  "Hardly any time at all," Phillip agreed, wishing he'd ordered a scotch on the rocks. It was looking as though he was going to need it. "Is it okay to smoke in here?" he asked, knowing he'd go outside if he had to.

  "No problem," Wes said with a smile. "I never picked up the habit myself. Hard on the lungs, limits a man's endurance."

  Helene gave Phillip a tight little smile but didn't object as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Actually, I quit before myself," he said, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs, "but you know how it is, stress and all. Right back to it."

  "A man can overcome bad habits," Helene retorted, her eyes narrowed as she watched the smoke rise around Phillip's handsome face, putting a veil between him and her. Was the veil purposeful--a way of hiding himself from her?

  "I've heard that's so," Phillip said, nodding congenially.

  "Uh, back to the divorce," Wes said determinedly. "I mean, you could see why people would wonder."

  "About what?" Phillip asked with a wolfish smile.

  "Just, you know, what happened so quick like." Wes smiled at Helene.

  "Of course," Phillip retorted, "what happened would be nobody’s business other than Helene and mine."

  "Unless another person had strong, personal reason for wanting to know." Wes gave Helene such a pointed look that it made no secret of what those personal reasons might be.

  The waitress came with their salads. Helene looked at Phillip and saw by the set expression on his face that he was waiting to see if she would fill Wes in on the marriage that wasn't. She saw no reason to do so. One question would never be enough, plus it might—likely would-- encourage Wes in a direction she didn't want him to go. After spending only an hour with him, she was certain she didn't want Wes Carlson to pursue a relationship with her.

  "What's the point of rehashing yesterday's news?" she asked with a smile.

  Wes shrugged his shoulders. "How's the ranch work coming?" he asked, giving up gracefully.

  "What part?" Phillip asked curtly, no fonder of this conversational direction than the othe
r.

  "You like working with Curly?"

  "He’s one of a kind."

  "Uncle Amos was just saying this morning how much he appreciates the strong help Phillip has been to the ranch," Helene said, saving Phillip from a more detailed grilling by the more knowledgeable Wes.

  "He did?" Phillip's voice reflected his amazement.

  "Of course," Helene said, stabbing a bite of salad with her fork. "You must know how you've lifted his spirits by taking over the heavier workload."

  "I'm not very good at it."

  "But you're strong and getting more skilled everyday," Helene added.

  "Your uncle's really too old to be running that ranch by himself," Wes said. "I've told him many times that he needs to retire."

  "To what?" Helene asked, eyes widening with amazement. "Uncle Amos has never lived anywhere but on the Rocking H."

  "Face it, Helene. The ranch is worth a lot of money. Four thousand acres is a significant chunk of land, even without the undeveloped hot springs.”

  “Hot springs?” Phillip asked.

  “You never been up there? They have a lot of potential, artesian and right now he only uses them to keep the water flowing for the livestock during the hard part of winter. They have a lot more potential.”

  “A place like this one?” Phillip asked.

  Wes nodded. “Better than this. It could be a combination of homes and luxury hotel. He could sell the place for enough to retire in more luxury than he's ever known. He can't hold on much longer no matter how you look at it. Your uncle's an old man. Curly's not enough help and the truth is, he's getting to be old too."

  "Of course," Phillip inserted, blowing smoke toward Wes, "he's got more than Curly now. He's got both Helene and me."

  "A tenderfoot? How much help can that be? And Helene can't be outside doing the work of a man," Wes argued, taking a sip of his beer. "Besides how long are you going to be here?"

  "So what did you suggest to Amos he ought to do?" Phillip asked, ignoring Wes's question.

  "Buy a place in town, maybe one in the Southwest for winters. He could have anything he wanted off the proceeds of that land."

  "It’s a lot more than land. That ranch is his life," Phillip countered. "I barely know him and I already know that much. You might as well tell him to lie down and die."

  Wes bristled, opening his mouth to say something when the waitress appeared with a heavily laden tray bearing their dinners.

  With the food, Helene managed to shift the conversation to the weather, the restaurant and the even a local zoning issue, anything but the ranch or their complicated relationships. As she watched the two men banter and come near to an argument again and again, she was distracted, almost mesmerized by how attractive Phillip was, about how strongly his physical presence affected her.

  She found the hostility between the two men, something that underlay every sentence, to be surprising. It was made even more so, since every logical bone in her body said she ought to be taking Wes's side in the disagreements, but instead again and again she defended Phillip or shuffled the discussions off in a new, innocuous direction.

  This last week had taught her things about the man she'd married, things she'd never imagined. There was a vulnerability in him that was hidden under a surface toughness. Even tonight she saw it in his eyes, knew how easy it would be to hurt him by ridiculing him, by revealing the true nature of their brief marriage. She had imagined Phillip Drummond incapable of being hurt, but she knew now she'd been wrong. She'd believed the man she'd married to be incapable of deep passion, never would have believed he would come West, be a hired hand for her uncle and seemingly compete for her with a cowboy. She had to wonder how much more she had been dead wrong about.

  Wes's question and repeat of it jarred her away from her daydreaming. "What?" she asked, wanting to be sure she understood the question.

  "You like to dance?"

  "We love it," Phillip answered for her.

  "Are you sure you aren't too tired?" Helene asked. His face looked drawn. She knew how early he'd risen and the kind of day he'd put in. He had to be tired.

  "I'm fine."

  "Then we're on," Wes said grinning broadly.

  After dinner, they walked the short distance to the old dance hall, the band already loud and blaring from the back of the room, three couples gyrating to the music and more milling around. Helene received several appreciative looks from the men standing at the bar as they entered.

  Finding a table, Wes pointed Phillip toward the bar and directed him to round up beers for them. Helene demurred and said she'd prefer a Coke. She then watched Phillip make his way between dancers, his lean-hipped walk as sexy and appealing as any man's she'd ever seen, she found it impossible not to think back to the last time she and he had danced. It seemed years and yet had only been weeks. The atmosphere in Chico was wildly different. Instead of evening gowns, the people were dressed in a wide range of styles with cowboy hats, plaid or gaudily decorated cowboy shirts, boots and jeans being most popular. Would Phillip ask her to dance here? Did she want him to?

  The music from the cowboy band twanged as the lyrics told of the pain of lost love, bar room women, and cowboy lovers. She would have given a lot to read Phillip's thoughts as he walked back, drinks precariously balanced in his hands.

  Before Wes could ask Helene to dance, Phillip had the glasses on the table and had reached out for her hand. "I think you owe me this one," he said huskily in her ear as she found herself out on the dance floor in his strong arms.

  "I do?" she bantered, wondering what it would be like to flirt with Phillip. Their courtship had been so rushed. There had been so little play.

  "More than a dance," he murmured in her ear as he pulled her against his muscular body, the tweed of his jacket against her cheek, the music slow and seductive. When had it changed? "You owe me a wedding night."

  "How do you figure that?"

  "I didn't get one, did I?"

  "No, but I didn't think that disappointed you all that much."

  His arms tightened. "You were wrong. Wrong about so much, Miss Helene."

  "Miss Helene?"

  "Isn't that what your cowboy hero would call you? A nice little schoolmarm like you."

  "And you're the cowboy hero?" she teased.

  "Of course. You don't think dull, old Wes fills the bill do you?"

  "Why not?"

  "Well, for one thing, he's always talking about real estate. You sure he's not a salesman?"

  She laughed, amazed at the lightness of Phillip's tone. He ran his hand down her back, drawing her more firmly against his own hard length. It was as though she could feel every throb of muscle in his body, and it seemed to be turning her body into liquid fire. There was a pulsing deep within her, something that responded to a rhythm in Phillip that had nothing to do with the music.

  "How could you think I didn't want you?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper. "I want you so bad I can't sleep at night."

  She tried to lift her head to look up at his eyes, to read the truth of his words, but his hand was tangled in her hair.

  "I like your hair like this, shorter, free. It’s meant for a man to stroke it, feel it against his cheek."

  If she'd been a cat, she'd have purred; instead, she tightened her arms around his waist.

  "I didn't say enough of those words, did I?" he murmured against her ear. "Didn't tell you often enough how beautiful you were, how much I wanted to take off your blouse, caress your--"

  "Phillip," she interrupted, embarrassed that he'd say such things on a dance floor where anyone might hear.

  She could feel his smile against her forehead. "Too much?" he whispered, his lips caressing where they had rested.

  "I just find your mood hard to understand," she said, knowing she shouldn't complain. She had wanted such words but never thought to hear them from Phillip.

  Before he could respond, Wes was tapping his shoulder to cut in. Helene knew her eyes must have lo
oked dazed as Wes shifted her into his arms. She felt a coldness and even Wes holding her in his arms couldn't restore the warmth.

  When they came back to the table, Phillip's eyes were on her, their cool blue depths seeming to be drawing her into him.

  Obviously feeling third man out, Wes slumped in his chair. He was sipping on his third beer. His smile brightened. "I ever tell you folks I can sing?"

  Helene looked at him trying to decide from where that had come.

  "Country?" Phillip asked.

  "Whatever the band's playing," Wes bragged.

  "Karaoke?" Helene suggested without much real interest. She couldn't understand why it mattered whether or not Wes sung, but she would humor him with a pretend interest.

  "No ma'am. None of that canned music for me. I play guitar and sing." He grinned broadly at them and added, "You don't believe me."

  "We believe you," Phillip said with a faint smile as he lit a cigarette.

  "Nope, I can see it in your faces. You don't. Well, I'll have to prove it to you." He rose quickly and headed for the band.

  "He wouldn't..." Helene said, eyes widening with disbelief.

  "It looks to me like he would," Phillip responded grinning more broadly.

  The band had just finished up a song as Wes pulled on the arm of their lead guitarist, talked for a moment, then walked to the back of the stage and picked up a guitar from behind the drums. The leader came to the microphone.

  "We got ourselves a little treat here." He put his hand over the microphone, asked Wes a question, then said, "Wes Carlson, one of your own local boys, is going to favor us with a song."

  Wes came to the microphone. He strummed a couple of chords on the guitar, one of which seemed to Helene to be slightly off key. "This is an old Merle Haggard tune, The Fightin' Side of Me," he said. "Hope you remember it."

  Although Helene had never heard the song, she knew almost instantly that it was not being performed well. Merle Haggard would never have become the major country star he had been if he'd sung any song the way Wes was attempting to sing this. Whoever had told him he could sing was clearly no friend. On the other hand, Helene thought with a smile, maybe Wes, with his over abundance of confidence, had needed no one to tell him anything and had decided it for himself. She grinned more broadly.