And he’d also figured that out, because he exhaled sharply and released her, stopping just short of thrusting her away. “So you’re bound and determined to stick to this confounded waiting game of yours.”
“I am not playing games.”
“You couldn’t prove that by me. But if that’s the way you want it, then get on out of here.” He pointed at her house. “Go. Now. Before I change my mind.”
At his dismissal, so summarily delivered, she narrowed her eyes. Then at her lack of hurry, he looked back at her. Although his eyes still held heat, his countenance smoothed out, but with calculation, not calm, and she realized that if she didn’t make a move, he would. So maybe it would be wiser to let him have the last word after all.
She turned, stalked away and didn’t look back until she reached her door. It took her eyes a moment to separate his shadow from the patchwork of tree limbs, but then she found him still standing there, motionless and watching her.
As her anger dissipated she was left feeling hollow, empty, vulnerable. And wanting.
She pushed the door open and went inside.
*
The following Sunday, Lainie stood in the living room of the Cooper house amidst a flurry of activity.
“No, really,” she protested. “Please don’t go to all this trouble. Country dancing isn’t, well...”
“Don’t you fret,” Raymond Cooper said. “Randy, push that armchair out of the way there.”
Lainie sat on the sofa, hoping that would slow down the furniture moving. “But—”
“I warned you that you were in for it,” Jackie said cheerfully as she helped Bobbie push the coffee table to the wall.
“Margene, honey, where’s that boom box? And Lainie, sweet child, you’re gonna have to get up off that couch.”
“Ray, careful that you don’t—” Margene said.
“I haven’t lifted a finger here, honey. I got these young folk doin’ all the work.”
Giving up, Lainie stood and helped Jackie push the sofa out of the way. Come what may, she was going to get a dance lesson.
She’d heard nostalgia today, but nothing about Lone Tree and Elizabeth Ann Auburn. Ray loved to talk, but it was Margene Lainie wanted to hear from. Jackie had gotten her ebullient nature from her father. Her sister was quieter, like their mother.
Lainie learned that Margene was retired from the local school district and Ray had been a postman. “Delivered mail for thirty years till gout took up residence in my big toe.”
She’d also gotten an earful about the Alaskan cruise they’d just returned from.
“It was a mite cold, even in July. But one thing I can say for those cruise people, they got activities, something going on every day. Even had lessons in country dancing. Margene and I never got out on the floor, though—too many people didn’t know what they were doin’.” He grinned. “Musta been why they were giving lessons?”
One thing had led to another, and now Lainie, the guest who hadn’t been allowed to help in the kitchen, was moving furniture all over the living room.
“Daddy, what music do you want?” Bobbie stopped thumbing through tapes to level a look at Randy. “Not counting Mama and Daddy, has anyone noticed we’ve got three women dancers and only one man?”
Randy didn’t smile back. Neither did he blush. “Yeah, I noticed.”
Well, good for you, Lainie thought. Bobbie Ann, you’ve met your man.
“This one,” Jackie said, choosing a tape and popping it in. “We don’t need partners.”
The catchy nonsensical strains of “Elvira” filled the air. “Okay, Lainie, this is what you call Cowboy Motion. You stand in a line, like this.” She aligned herself next to Lainie, and Randy and Bobbie stationed themselves on her other side. “Hook your thumbs in your belt like this, and—”
“I don’t know about this,” Margene said around a grin. “Don’t know if I’ve ever seen anybody do a bona fide heel click in tennis shoes.”
Six pairs of eyes, accompanied by the Oak Ridge Boys in full voice and rhythm, studied Lainie’s footwear.
“It does kinda take the pizzazz out of it,” Raymond agreed.
Lainie dissolved into giggles. She liked Texas and its people, but there were times when she clearly did not fit.
“Lainie, you come sit with me,” her hostess said, patting the cushion next to her on the sofa that now blocked the doorway to the kitchen. “Didn’t appear you were much interested in dancing in the first place.”
Gratefully, Lainie sat down.
“Bobbie, honey,” Ray said. “Boot your sister out of the way and grab my tape of favorites there. We’re gonna do some serious dancing. I didn’t do all this furniture moving for nothing.”
Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings joined in harmony, warning mamas not to let their babies grow up to be cowboys, and Bobbie Ann gave her hands and a lively grin to her cowboy. Though she was on the quiet side, she clearly could be a handful. Randy, however, appeared to be willing and able to cope.
“Margene?” Raymond asked with a tilt of his head.
“No, thank you, dear.”
“Lainie? Last chance.”
“No, thank you, kind sir.”
Jackie struck a pose, crossing one foot over the other with its boot toe touching the floor, and opened her arms in invitation as she smiled at her father.
“Don’t you get smart with me, girl. I’m the one taught you how and I can still outdance you any day of the week. Now get on over here.”
The country dance was quaint and structured; the couples connected at arms’ length, touching hands, waist and shoulders only.
“Lainie, here’s what we call promenade,” Ray said, and the women were turned, positioned beneath the right arms of their partners, danced forward, then were turned again to face the men.
“And now an outside turn,” Jackie said.
“Thank you, daughter, but I’ll lead, if you don’t mind. Randy, how about we execute a wrap?”
That done, he called for Jackie’s outside turn. “Happy now, child?”
Lainie enjoyed the camaraderie Ray shared with his daughters, and she noted how comfortably Randy fit into the family group.
“You do your mama proud,” Margene said, and Lainie’s breath caught.
“You’ve got a gracious turn to you,” Margene went on. “It takes a knack to deal with people like Ray, who can run away with themselves at times.”
Oh. She let the pent-up breath go. “Well, I’d already met Jackie.”
“Oh, yes.” Margene dragged the two words out. “They are two of a kind.”
That song ended, and the dancers gave the women on the sofa a questioning look. Margene shook her head, Lainie just grinned and the couples changed partners.
“She’s got a tendency to lead, that one,” Ray said.
“Might be they both do,” Randy countered. “They had the same teacher.”
Waylon was on his own this time, explaining how ladies loved outlaws.
Margene gave Lainie a sideways glance. “I have to tell you, you and Jackie are bringing back memories. I used to be good friends with Elizabeth Ann Auburn, Miles’s daughter.”
Casually, Lainie nodded. “Jackie mentioned that.”
“It was like we were sisters. We both felt that way, and I still think about her.”
Lainie waited, but when her hostess went no further, she prompted, “Miles mentioned he’d lost his daughter. It seemed difficult for him to talk about her.”
“Yes, he lost her, but not the way it sounds. She ran off, defying him to be with the man she’d fallen in love with—following her heart, some would say.” Margene paused. “But I always thought she was making a mistake. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen. She was hearing it from her daddy, too much so, as I recollect, and just plain wouldn’t hear it from me, too. She called once, a couple weeks after she’d left. They’d found an apartment, she wouldn’t say where, and were looking for work. She sounded happy, yet scared at the sam
e time. And homesick.”
Margene’s eyes clouded. “Never heard from her again, but I still think about her. Guess I always will. If she’d been happy she would’ve stayed in touch. And then I never much believed in fairy tale endings anyway.”
Lainie wasn’t aware the dancers had stopped until Ray plopped down between her and Margene. He stretched his arms along the top of the sofa, propped his right foot on his left knee and stared at it. “That toe’s been behaving itself for a while now. Knock on wood.”
Randy sat in the armchair and Bobbie perched on the arm of it. Jackie had settled on the end of the coffee table. She tapped her foot, keeping time with a country rock singer. “You know what I liked? That truck commercial he did some time back.”
Ray’s smile was indulgent. “Doesn’t take much to please you, girl.”
Ray turned his attention to his wife. “I heard you talking. Elizabeth Ann again?”
“Um-hmm.”
“That’s a lot of years ago.” He stretched his legs out, crossing one ankle over the other. “And I agree with you. These two gals do remind me of you and Elizabeth, but backwards.”
Lainie gave him a sideways look, trying to decipher that.
His gaze settled on Jackie. “Elizabeth was headstrong, independent, moving ahead without always knowing where she was going, and there are times I’ve seen that in our eldest daughter here. But Lainie’s quieter, keeps her own counsel, doesn’t wear her heart on her sleeve.” His head turned to Margene. “That’s more like you.”
Face growing somber, he looked back at Jackie. “The past is one thing, the present another. That goes for every one of us.” He waited a beat. “Ran into Willis Bender last week, over in Farber. He asked about you.”
The look between father and daughter didn’t hold rancor, but neither was there evidence of their previous lightheartedness. “Hope you told him I’m just fine,” Jackie said. Her tone was flat.
“Yes, Jackie Lyn, that’s what I told him.” Ray’s sigh was heavy as he prepared to stand. “And now I’m ready for more of that sweet potato pie. If anyone wants to join me, they can help me get these two womenfolk up off this couch here so we can get into the kitchen where it’s at.”
Chapter Fifteen
Staccato raps of a bouncing basketball rang across the prison’s exercise yard, amid human sounds that were even more explosive: grunts, curses and threats, shouts of derision and hoots of triumph.
Bored, Carl Henry sat on a concrete step and watched the game, the weight of the sun heavy on his back and shoulders.
Sweat rolled off the players, discoloring their clothing and filling the air with its stink. The game was nondiscriminatory—skins in various shades of black, brown, and white—which was a perfect setup for a healthy riot.
Carl’s attention sharpened when a fight erupted at the sidelines. A stocky Mexican wrestled the ball to his stomach, hugged it with one arm and smashed the palm of his free hand into his opponent’s face. The man dropped like a rock, nose gushing blood, and the victor whirled. He shot, the ball bounced off the backboard, and he sprinted to join the mass of bodies beneath the basket.
Carl settled back. They were both Hispanic. If one of them weren’t already out cold, there would’ve been friction, maybe interesting, but no gang action.
“Yo,” said a gravelly voice, and the word was followed by a fit of coughing. Carl glanced sideways without returning the greeting. The speaker was a new arrival named Leroy, an aging loser with some hard years on him. Getting the cough under control, the useless has-been pulled a last drag from his smoked-down cigarette before throwing it away. Carl wrinkled his nose at the smell.
“Familiar face,” Leroy said.
Carl frowned in annoyance, not bothering to search his memory. He’d also recalled the man from somewhere, but hadn’t cared how or when he’d known him.
“If I remember right,” the older man said, “you was sweet on that Cooper gal. The oldest one.”
Carl whipped his head around, fastened his gaze on Leroy, but the man didn’t seem aware. He was looking at the prone convict. “Think he’s dead?” His voice held idle curiosity.
As if cued, the body twitched, then rolled over with a fit of gagging. The nosebleed had slowed to a steady drip. The man unsteadily worked himself to his knees.
“How do you know Jackie Lyn?” The suppressed violence in Carl’s question must’ve caught Leroy’s attention. His gaze snapped back.
“Don’t know her,” he clarified. “Knew her daddy. Went to school with ’im.” Appearing wary, Leroy started to inch away. “Saw ’im,” he explained. “Maybe a year ago, him and his family—got two girls, looked like. They was checkin’ out the Pecos Museum. Recognized the older one, seen her with you. Leastways, thought I had. Sorry if I’m out o’ line here.”
“That’s it? All of it?” Carl felt lighter now, but Leroy retained the look of a man riding the edge of a storm that might break out in any direction if he didn’t take care. “You’re telling me you never saw her otherwise,” Carl continued. “Just that once. With her kin.”
Leroy hesitated.
Carl Henry reached out and bunched the collar of Leroy’s coarse prison-issued garb in his fat hand. The man’s body went rigid. Carl waited.
“Yeah,” Leroy said. He sounded like his mouth had gone dry. “Well, no. One other time. Just one.”
Carl’s fingers tightened in the cloth. Leroy flinched as if he’d been struck. “It was just about a week after I seen her in Pecos. That’s how come I remember.” He couldn’t talk fast enough now. “I was in Farber, just walkin’ along, and she drove up and parked. A sedan, green, looked really nice, and she got out and went in...in a place there.”
“What place?”
“Business place. Real estate, I think. Desks in there, lots o’ people.”
“And?” He made a syllable out of each letter in the one word.
“Then she come out again with someone. He had his arm around her. She was smilin’, like he just said somethin’ funny, and they got in her car. He was drivin’. She gave the keys to him. They drove off.”
Carl Henry turned stone cold inside. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Then he drew in one quiet breath. “Name.”
“Don’t know it.”
The fist tightened.
“Don’t know ’im. Never did. Never saw ’im ’cept that one time.”
“What did he look like?”
“Uh, tall, six feet maybe, young, younger than me. Like you, maybe. Light-haired, dark-blond like, thin but not skinny. Dressed well, wore his clothes real good.”
Carl Henry waited but there was no more. Leroy’s eyes bulged.
“Name of the place. Address.”
“Don’t remember the street’s name. Not downtown Farber, kinda on the outskirts. The name of the place was...was quality something. Quality land, quality development. Something.”
Carl decided Leroy had no more information. If he did, he would’ve spit it out.
He settled back, one degree at a time, his fingers untangling from the fabric of the man’s shirt. He rose to his feet and walked away.
He wanted someplace quiet, no one else around. He had thinking to do. And planning.
Chapter Sixteen
Miles’s seventy-fifth, milestone birthday was August 9, and it fell to Lainie to coordinate a proper shindig. He wanted the works; the guest list numbered more than a hundred.
She spent two days looking for The Good Ol’ Boys, a local group that Miles wanted, until she overheard a conversation between Rosalie and Angie and realized that was Miles’s name for them, but not their official title. It then took her ten minutes to find them and book them. She hired a catering firm and a bartender, ordered the booze, and found a florist with sound decorating ideas.
Then she hit the menu, and realized this part was going to be even more difficult than finding a group with a name that didn’t exist.
Rosalie would be preparing Miles’s favorite dishes and was supp
osed to work jointly with the catering service. But she refused to entertain suggestions, recommendations, or anything else from them. The caterers were getting uptight, and Lainie was getting a headache.
Miles also wanted prawns, the giant ones, half-peeled, with rich, spicy sauce on the side. Good choice, Lainie thought, until she discovered he didn’t consider the prawns to be appetizers. He thought they’d make an excellent main course if any of the hundred or so desired.
That was a lot of prawns.
After much negotiation—by Miles, not Lainie—Tom Forrester had okayed a ceiling of five grand. Lainie thought that was way too much for anyone’s party and was certain she could bring this in under budget. Until the prawns came up.
Miles wouldn’t listen or even look at her figures. “Don’t worry about it.” His face wrinkled in annoyance.
“But all I want to do is cut the order back. Half of that would be more than enough.”
“I’m not the only one who likes the things.” The frown deepened. “Anything left over, we’ll finish off the next day.” He swiveled his chair, faced the computer that sat on the short end of the L-shaped desk and clicked into a solitaire game. End of discussion.
Rosalie was no help. “That’s Miles for you,” she said with a shrug. “He wants what he wants.”
Lainie even considered talking to Reed, but that was stretching his job description.
So she called Tom Forrester and discovered that his manner was just as abrupt over the phone wire as in person. “I don’t see what the problem is,” he said. “If he wants prawns, he should have prawns.”
“But I’d hoped to bring this in under five grand, and now I might go over that instead. And I don’t want to cut them out anyway. Just cut them back.”
When he hesitated, she could almost hear the cash register ringing. She should’ve called him in the first place. “Uh, how much more?” he asked. “We could go a little higher if need be.”
So he also liked prawns. Lainie stared into space. Was she the only sane person left in this part of Texas? “Okay, Tom. The order stands. Bye.”
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