The partners faced each other, bowed, then straightened back into a line and tucked their hands inside the back pockets of their jeans, palms out. The fiddler started “Turkey in the Straw,” and the dancers exploded. Turning sideways, they skipped in place in a giddy-up motion, then faced forward and changed their steps, now two fast ones to one side and then two to the other. Arms were as busy as their feet. Thumbs were hooked in their belts, then arms akimbo, then hands again in their pockets. Boots moved across the floor so fast they were like drops of water skittering in a hot skillet.
Jackie Lyn was indeed good. But she didn’t make Reed look good, because he was better. He lifted her off her feet with one arm around her waist, swung in a fast circle, put her back down and nobody missed a beat. The five couples moved like a practiced team, the fluid moves synchronized. These people had danced together before.
As Lainie watched them, she felt inadequate. She’d promised to dance with Reed, but no way could she equal his grace and rhythm.
“Your man is the best dancer on the floor,” a woman next to Lainie said.
She glanced at her, recalled that her name was Agnes. Wistfully, the woman watched the dancers. “I used to dance, years ago, but was never that good. His partner’s not bad, either.”
“My man? You must be misunderstanding the relationship. Reed is the ranch foreman, and I’m Miles’s secretary.”
Agnes gave her a humoring look. “Maybe that’s so. But any fool can tell how special you each are to the other.”
Oh, yeah? Lainie had been fighting this for three months. Any fool could tell?
The number ended to loud and appreciative applause, and Reed made his way to Lainie. “Give me a minute to catch my breath, and I’ll be ready to get back out there with you.” She stared blankly at him, then looked for Agnes, but the woman was gone.
“Can I get you anything?” Reed asked.
“Uh, no thanks.”
He headed for the punch bowl, and Lainie headed for a chair. She felt like she’d gotten stuck in reverse and was backpedaling up a hill.
He returned with two glasses of punch. “Brought you one anyway. Looked like you could use it.”
“I do?” She giggled. “Yeah, guess so.” As she drained the glass Reed watched her curiously.
Once he’d caught his breath, she’d found her poise again, or at least she hoped she had. The band began a slow number; she recognized the familiar strains of a popular ballad, and when Reed drew her onto the floor she found no cause for concern. As he led, he somehow managed to match his pace to hers and she followed easily. Paraphrasing his own words, Reed was good enough he made Lainie look good.
As the yearning melody swirled around them, she closed her eyes. They fit together so well. Softly rounded places tucked in so nicely next to hard angles. They could have been the only couple on the floor, the only two people in that part of Texas. When Reed’s arms lowered to her waist and he locked his hands at the small of her back, she lifted her arms to encircle his neck. But as dreamy as she felt, as much as she wanted to lose herself in his arms, she wasn’t able to do so. A part of her just wouldn’t let go.
When he pulled her yet closer, she realized she was a little too comfortable. She reminded herself who she was, where she was, and she tried to ease back. He didn’t let her. She frowned, continuing to press back against his locked hands. A short stalemate followed, no one giving way, then he exerted that little extra bit of pressure that drew her in another inch.
She planted her feet, met his gaze head-on, put her palms on his shoulders and pushed hard. Another stalemate. Then he gave her a slight nod, a slighter smile, and his grip loosened. Lainie relaxed.
Around Reed’s shoulder, she caught sight of Miles at the edge of the dance floor. He was involved with a group of men, but his attention was on Reed and Lainie. He looked amused, and she felt conspicuous.
Then, barely giving her a chance to realize she’d won, Reed showed her she hadn’t. Pulling her up hard against him, he gave her a fast but thorough kiss full on the lips, then released her.
It took her a moment to orient herself. The touch of his lips on hers had been quick, but had left an indelible impression. She recovered enough to laugh, and then she leaned into him.
“It’s not bad enough that you’re bossy. You’ve got rogue in you, too. I can’t win. I give up.” Which she did. She gave in to the music, the mood, and Reed. She paid no more attention to how closely he held her, or to Miles or Agnes or anyone else. But as content as she was within his arms, she kept part of herself in reserve, and that part vowed that when the party was over, she was going home alone.
The party broke up around midnight, and shortly thereafter only a small group of men surrounding Miles were left who appeared not yet ready to call it a night. But Lainie was. All she had to do was get out of the house without being waylaid by Reed. He’d had her in his sights all night, and she suspected that once she headed for the door, he’d beat her to it.
She was helping Rosalie straighten up when she noticed Reed being drawn into the group of men surrounding his boss. He appeared reluctant, but she figured he’d be just as reluctant to be rude.
Now was her chance.
Rosalie reached for a stack of linen napkins, then stopped and frowned. “What are we doing this for? The cleanup crew will be here first thing in the morning. It’s their job.”
Lainie grinned. Talk about timing.
Rosalie walked away, shaking her head at her own foolishness. “Goodnight.”
Lainie held a tray of cutlery and carried it to the kitchen on her way. Reed would note she was busy, not that she was leaving. Then when her house was dark and she didn’t answer her door, he’d realize she wasn’t going to budge and he’d go on home.
She found an empty spot on the counter for the tray, not envying the cleanup crew. This place needed a lot of cleanup.
“Hey.”
The softness in Reed’s voice made Lainie catch her breath, and then she turned. He stepped forward. When she retreated, the wall stopped her. “Uh, Reed...”
“Yes?”
She looked sideways at the door, heard a rustle of movement and then a hand was placed on either side of her, pinning her in without touching her. An effective positioning, reminiscent of that encounter in the dining room, and she’d guessed then that she’d be faced with it again. She looked into those mesmerizing eyes, only inches away.
Where, exactly, was that part of herself she’d been holding in reserve? That was supposed to deal with exactly this kind of situation?
“Reed...”
“Yes?”
She said nothing, just watched his mouth descend to hers. She didn’t resist, instead closed her eyes and drank him in. He tasted like chicory, and she wondered again, quite irrelevantly, how Texans could drink so much coffee.
He’d grown beyond seductive, seemed aware of his power over her, and he was mercilessly using it. Everything about him—his mouth, his tongue, his roving hands that she for some reason wasn’t trying to still—every part of him wanted her, and she knew it. And she wanted him. It would be so easy, so easy...
Without conscious direction, her arms wrapped themselves around him. He felt hard and solid and good, so good. Her mind was trying to tell her something, but she paid no attention. His lips moved to her eyelids, her forehead, back to her mouth. She was conscious of the sense of touch alone. She pressed closer, wanting more, not getting enough. With a feather touch, his hands worked their way back to her shoulders. His thumbs played with the skinny straps of her blouse while his lips continued to tease her with butterfly kisses. He was driving her crazy. She was going to have to hold his head in place and kiss him the way she wanted to, the way she wanted him to kiss her.
“Oh,” said a startled voice, and they both jumped.
“Oh,” Rosalie said again. She stood as if rooted in the doorway. “I, uh...” Her pained gaze traveled to the counter and she gave it an apologetic nod. “Just wanted to make s
ure the coffee pot was turned off.”
Three people looked at the guilty coffee maker. Reed was closest to it so stepped to the counter and flicked the switch off.
“It is now.” His voice was husky.
When Rosalie turned to leave, Lainie took a ragged breath. “Wait.”
Each person’s attention settled on her. Rosalie clearly wanted to go, and as fast as she could get out of there. Reed’s face displayed suspicion, then frustration, and finally exasperation.
“Goodnight,” Lainie said to him, and he just stared at her. Her voice sounded small even to her own ears.
“Goodnight,” she said again, more firmly.
His jaw set, took on the look of granite.
Rosalie fidgeted. Lainie waited.
Then finally Reed’s head bobbed once in a very...slow...nod. “So you won another one,” he said under his breath. “But no way, Lainie Sue, are you going to win them all.” He turned on his heel.
“Excuse me,” Rosalie said as he passed her.
“I’ll work on it,” he said without stopping.
The two women watched each other as his boot heels clicked down the hall.
“Thanks,” Lainie said.
Rosalie raised her palms and stared at the ceiling. “How did I get stuck in the middle?”
*
Three days later, sitting at her kitchen table, Jackie placed a double-four domino block at the end of the trey-four and sat back with the air of a job well done.
Lainie focused on the blocks, adding the count, and Jackie shook her head. “Nineteen. What was that going on between you and Reed on the dance floor the other night?”
“Huh?” Lainie snapped her head up. “There was nothing going on between us.”
Jackie grinned, and Lainie frowned.
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Lainie said precisely. She wondered if Jackie and Rosalie had been communicating. “We were dancing. Period.”
“Strangest-looking dance I ever saw. And what are you turnin’ all red for?”
“I’m not.” Then she contradicted herself. “You’d make anyone turn red.” She studied her dominoes, tried to remember whose turn it was.
“I don’t understand you, girl. All you’re doin’ is puttin’ off the inevitable. You know that, don’t you?”
“Did Reed hire you to lobby for him?”
“Seems to me,” Jackie said in a reasonable tone, “if you’ve got an itch, you ought to scratch it.”
“Oh, for...” Lainie shook her head and sat back. “That’s crude, Jackie.”
“And that itch of yours must be gettin’ itchier all the time. But you’re pretending that—”
Lainie jerked up straight. “Whose turn is it?”
“It’s yours, girl, and you can’t play. I’ve got you blocked.”
“I’ve got to draw every one of those dominoes?”
“Yep.”
Lainie checked the score. She needed fifty-five points and Jackie needed five. “I concede.”
“Wise of you. May be that you’re not so lacking in smarts after all.” Jackie placed her remaining blocks face down. “Seems to me, in this game you’re playing with Reed, you’re holding the key dominoes and got him blocked. But in the end, I wonder which one of you it will be who finally concedes.”
Lainie kept her gaze down, carefully giving no sign of the fact that she’d been wondering the same thing for a long time now.
Chapter Eighteen
Carl Henry was a bona fide janitor, a real employee, drawing a paycheck and everything. Once more his ma had come through for him. One parole stipulation was that he had to remain gainfully and legally employed, so she’d pounded the pavement on his behalf and got him a job.
He poured pine cleaner into the mopping pail, the disinfectant part of it making his nose wrinkle, then filled the plastic bucket with water in the women’s room and carried it back to the hall. He liked using the women’s room instead of the men’s room.
The day he’d been released, his mother had been waiting for him outside the prison in a borrowed car, looking scared of her own shadow like always, as if she’d expected him to haul off and slug her like his old man would’ve. It’d made him mad enough he’d wanted to do exactly that. Dishwater-colored hair, body so gaunt and wasted a good wind would knock her over. It bothered him that she was so skinny, like maybe she was sick. But if she was, she didn’t let on.
She’d set him up in a little one-room dump, complete with hotplate, instead of inviting him to live with her. Seemed she wanted to do right by him, but didn’t want to actually have anything to do with him. Not that he wanted to live with her.
He flipped the mop into the pail, then into the wringer and mashed out water. Would’ve been nice to get an invitation, though. From his own mother. To be wanted, needed. He paused, thinking on it, then pushed it out of his mind. He ever wanted anything from her, he’d look her up. He didn’t need to be invited.
But for now he was okay, paying job and everything. And every once in a while he got unexpected gifts, like what he’d found last night in the lunchroom. A digital camera with its neck strap wrapped around it, just sitting on a chair waiting for him. Well, hello. He scooped it up and put it in his pocket. It’d pick up a few dollars in a pawn shop if he ever needed quick cash.
Yeah, the job was okay.
His mind flicked back to the parole and its fancy stipulations. If there was such a thing as being legally employed, it followed there must also be a state of being illegally employed. What would that be? Robbing and stealing and selling dope? He’d be making money, but it wouldn’t be legal.
He swished the mop around, backed up and swished some more. Just the end of this hall and he’d be through with this night’s gainful employment.
Then he turned that around too and wondered what ungainful employment would be. Working and not getting paid? Isn’t that what he’d been doing in that hellhole? So if he did the same thing on the outside he’d done on the inside, he’d lose the privilege of being out and would have to go back in?
He laughed, the sound echoing down the empty hall. He liked making nonsense out of rules. There were a lot of stupid and silly ones that were supposed to keep people like him in line. But people like him could find ways around those rules any time they chose.
In fact, he was getting ready to do just that. All he had to do was decide who was gonna be first. The prim and oh-so-proper Jackie Lyn, who had the hots for somebody she didn’t have any kind of right to even look at? Or would it be Mr. Businessman and quality something or other? Or Lone Tree and old man Miles Auburn?
Whoever, whatever, it wouldn’t be much longer. He had all the time in the world in which to make his plans. He liked that—having unlimited time and unlimited options. It was his turn now.
Chapter Nineteen
Lainie kept Glory at a walk as they left the stable while she tried to decide where she wanted to go. East would put the sun in her eyes; west would have her riding into it on her way back. The oasis was northeast, but she’d been there countless times, and cows had just been moved to the north pasture. She guided Glory south.
The sun warmed her through her cotton shirt. A slight breeze cooled her cheeks and carried the scent of hay with only a slight suggestion of manure. She stayed at a lazy walk, just drinking in the morning, until Glory started prancing, and then she let the horse have her head.
She was thinking about heading back when a flash of white streaked across the ground. Glory reared, too suddenly and violently for her rider to keep her seat. Lainie went flying. Time seemed suspended while she was airborne, helplessness and panic mingled then she met the ground so hard she could neither move nor breathe.
When her lungs finally allowed air, she took small gulps, each one coming a little easier than the last. She rolled over, struggled to her knees and raked a quick look around for Glory, but the horse was long gone.
The good news was that Glory wasn’t injured—and L
ainie hadn’t broken or sprained anything either. The bad news was that Lone Tree was a dead spot for cell phones. Hers still lay in her nightgown drawer, where she’d put it the first week she was here.
She looked at the barren terrain. It was nearing 9:00 a.m., already heating up, and she had neither shade nor water. She probably wasn’t a whole five miles from the ranch, not much by car or horseback, but on foot and in the hot sun that was a distance. She scanned the ground for her hat and eyed it several yards away, in the wrong direction. She went for it, grudging the extra steps, and then began the trek for home.
Abruptly she stopped. She had a good sense of direction, but she had to be sure—really sure. She studied the landscape: shallow gully stained purple by the extra tall mulberry growing out of its corner, squat hills over there. She made sure the sun was where it was supposed to be and then resumed walking.
Glory would head straight for the stables, and when she arrived without Lainie a search party would be formed. A plan must be in place for exactly this contingency. She didn’t doubt she’d be found, but it might take a while. Having become accustomed to Glory and the ranch and the freedom, Lainie seldom followed a pattern; she wandered as she wished. When Nelly had asked where she was headed, she’d grinned and said, “Yonder.” She could now kick herself for the flippancy and wondered if he’d glanced out in time to see her turn south.
She trudged on. The sun was like a heavy weight. The heat didn’t affect her as badly as it once had. She was becoming acclimatized, but she preferred not to go out for long walks in it. If she could find shade she’d stay put and wait for the searchers. She recalled the mulberry and wished she were under it. Since she wasn’t capable of sitting motionlessly and allowing the sun to beat on her, she continued to put one foot in front of the other.
A glance at her watch told her fourteen minutes had passed.
She recited song lyrics and nursery rhymes, trying not to think about heat and thirst, and to keep her mind off the time that was passing too slowly. But she was still hot, still thirsty. She jerked to a stop when an image of the Pacific Ocean popped into her mind. She could smell the salt water, almost see undulating waves in the distance.
Lone Tree Page 13