Slow Waltz Across Texas

by Peggy Moreland

  I married you, didn’t I? I gave those kids my name.

  Bracing his elbows on his thighs, he dragged his hands slowly down his face, groaning, as he remembered his words to his wife. Why was it that, lately, every time he opened his mouth around Rena, it seemed he stuck his foot in it?

  He propped his chin on his fists and stared at the bare wall opposite him. He didn’t have an answer to the question. Hell, he thought, surging to his feet and tossing the jacket aside. He didn’t have any answers at all. He paced the length of the room and back, a hand cupped around the base of his neck, massaging at the tension there.

  The voice mail she’d left him informing him that she was leaving him had come as a shock. But that blow hadn’t been anything compared to the one he’d received when he’d returned to their ranch and discovered Rena and the kids were already gone.

  He stopped in front of the door and gulped back a sob, hearing again the eerie silence that had greeted him when he’d stepped inside the house, the hollow echo of his footsteps in rooms once filled with his children’s furniture and toys, the squeal of their laughter.

  Rena had been right, he admitted miserably, in saying he’d never been around much. Riding the rodeo circuit left little time for visits home. But in spite of his absences he’d always found comfort in knowing that his home was there for him, as were Rena and the kids, waiting for his return. And for a man who had never had a home or a family, the ranch had provided a sense of security he’d desperately needed.

  A security it appeared he was about to lose.

  He couldn’t lose his home and family, he told himself, feeling the panic squeezing at his chest, the loss already weighing heavy on his heart. He couldn’t. Rena and the kids meant everything to him. They were his life, his reason for living.

  Without them he was nothing.

  Nothing.

  Rena lay on her side, her knees drawn to her chest, a corner of the sheet pressed tightly against her lips. Hot, silent tears saturated the pillow beneath her cheek.

  She’d done the right thing, she told herself. She’d had to leave Clayton. She couldn’t go on living with him the way things were and continue to pretend that nothing was wrong. Not with him gone all the time and her left alone on the ranch with the children.

  Not without his love to keep her company during the long, lonely nights when he was away.

  She felt a sob rising and pressed the sheet more tightly against her lips to choke it back.

  He didn’t love her. He couldn’t. If he did, he would come home more often, would want to spend more time with her and the twins. As it was, he was gone weeks at a time, never even bothering to call and check on her or their children. And even when he was at home, she reminded herself tearfully, he wasn’t there, at least not emotionally. Not for her.

  When he was at the ranch, which seemed to occur less and less frequently, he took care of what business needed his attention, then he’d leave again. And while he was there, he never looked at her, never talked to her, nor did he ever listen when she tried to talk to him.

  And he never touched her anymore…except when they were in bed.

  As a result, she felt empty inside, drained, as if she were a well that was drawn from time and time again, but with no one to replenish her emotional supply. She was dry, empty and felt as if she had nothing left to offer those who needed her most. Her children.

  She rolled to her back, clutching the sheet to her breasts, and stared at the shadows dancing on the ceiling overhead. Was it so wrong to want Clayton’s attention? she asked herself. To need it? To even demand it? She was his wife, after all, and there was no one else to give her the things she needed. And that realization was what had finally pushed her into leaving him, she knew.

  She had no one.

  Yet she still had needs.

  She felt the familiar ache in her breasts beneath the weight of her arms. How long had it been since he had touched her there? Swept his tongue across her nipples? Suckled at her breasts? How long since he had lain with her, the heat of his body warming hers, his comforting weight pressing her more deeply into the bed they shared so rarely? How long since he’d buried himself in her? Filled her with his seed?

  The ache spread, throbbing to life between her legs. Biting back a sob, she rolled to her side again.

  Yes, she thought as the tears scalded her throat.

  Rena Rankin still had needs.

  Stretched out on one of the cushioned lounge chairs beside her parents’ pool, Rena crossed her legs at the ankles and took a sip of her lemonade.

  “So, are you going home with him?”

  Rena shook her head at her friend Megan’s question, then set her glass of lemonade on the wrought-iron table between them. “No, that wouldn’t solve anything.”

  Megan drew back, looking at Rena in dismay. “Surely you aren’t planning on staying here with your parents?”

  Rena cast a glance over her shoulder at the stately two-story mansion behind them with its glistening mullioned windows, the long stretch of French doors that lined the curved patio, the carefully manicured shrubs that hugged the mauve stone walls and the urns spilling with brightly colored flowers, which changed almost magically with the seasons. Wealth. Perfection. Success. Those were the images her parents’ home drew; the same images to which they had tried to make their only daughter conform. The same images she’d wanted so desperately to escape as a young, single woman. With a shudder she glanced away. “No, not permanently. Just for a few days.”

  Megan stretched out a hand and took Rena’s, squeezing it within her own. “Oh, Rena,” she murmured, her eyes filled with concern, “are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Honestly?” At Megan’s earnest nod, Rena sighed and withdrew her hand from her friend’s. She pressed her head back against the plump cushions and stared blindly up at the clouds floating across the sky overhead. “No, but I can’t go on living with Clayton. Not with the way things are between us.”

  “But you love Clayton! I know you do.”

  Rena lifted a shoulder. “I thought I did. But now…I’m not sure anymore.”

  “Of course you love him! And he loves you!”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “How do you know that? Has he told you that he doesn’t?”

  Rena snorted indelicately. “No, but Clayton rarely says anything. Or at least, not to me.”

  “Then you can’t possibly know that he doesn’t love you.”

  Rena turned her head slowly to peer at Megan through the dark sunglasses that concealed eyes swollen from a night spent crying over that very actuality. “Trust me,” she replied dryly. “I know.”

  Megan huffed a breath and flopped back against the cushions, folding her arms stubbornly beneath her breasts. “Well, I think he does.”

  Rena sputtered a laugh. “And why would you think that? You haven’t been around Clayton or talked to him in years.”

  “I was there the night you met him,” Megan reminded her. “Remember?”

  Rena turned her face away. “Yes, I remember.”

  “And do you also remember how you two just seemed to click?” she asked, snapping two fingers together for emphasis. “I’ve never seen chemistry like that before, nor have I since.”

  Rena fluttered a hand, dismissing her friend’s opinion. “Lust. Pure and simple.”

  Megan jackknifed to a sitting position. “It was not just lust!” she cried, then clamped her lips together and stole a quick glance at the house to make sure that no one had overheard her. Though no faces appeared in any of the windows, she lowered her voice, obviously concerned that Rena’s mother was hovering on the other side of the doors, as she had when they were teenagers, eavesdropping on their conversation. “Two star-crossed lovers destined to meet,” she whispered furiously to Rena. “That’s what the two of you were. One look from Clayton, one touch, and you came alive.”

  Even as her friend described the event, Rena felt the leap of nerves beneath h
er skin, the quickening of her breath, the heat racing through her veins. She could see Clayton as he’d stood that night, alone at the edge of the dance floor, his hands braced low on his hips. The sleeves of his black Western shirt had been rolled to his elbows, exposing muscled forearms dusted with dark hair, and his black cowboy hat had been shoved back on his head, revealing the sharp angles of an incredibly handsome face.

  Black. The bad guys always wear black, she remembered thinking at the time, even as she’d smiled flirtatiously at him when he’d looked her way.

  Furious with herself for even thinking about Clayton and the night they’d first met, she sat up impatiently. “Lust,” she repeated stubbornly and reached for the bottle of sunscreen sitting on the table. “It was nothing but lust.”

  “How can you say that?” Megan cried. “You were crazy about him!”

  Frowning, Rena smeared the cream over her legs. “Crazy being the operative word.”

  “Uggh,” Megan groaned, obviously frustrated by having her words twisted around. “You weren’t crazy! In fact, accepting Clayton’s invitation to dance was probably the sanest and bravest thing you’d ever done in your life.”

  When Rena humphed her disagreement, Megan swung her legs over the side of the chair and snatched the bottle of sunscreen from Rena’s hand. “You listen to me, Rena Rankin,” she ordered sternly. “Up until that night, you’d lived your entire life at your parents’ direction, being the dutiful daughter, the perfect little debutante, doing exactly what you were told, never daring to veer either left or right from the path they’d mapped out for you. But with Clayton you forgot all that, and you were simply you!”

  “Me?” Rena sputtered a laugh. “I was twenty-one years old, extremely naive and looking for trouble. And I found it,” she added bitterly.

  “You weren’t looking for trouble.”

  “Wasn’t I?” Rena asked, arching a brow above the rim of her sunglasses as she peered at her friend. “Slumming. Isn’t that what you called it that night when you suggested that the three of us go inside that country-western dance hall in Oklahoma City? Three sorority girls from the University of Oklahoma mixing and mingling with the local yokels, I believe is how you described it.”

  Megan’s cheeks reddened, but she lifted her chin defensively. “Okay. So maybe my intentions weren’t totally charitable, but I was proven wrong, wasn’t I? The cowboys we met that night treated us with more respect than any of the fraternity boys ever had, didn’t they?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Didn’t seem to want one. “They were gentlemen. Treated us like ladies. And we had fun, didn’t we?”

  “Yes,” Rena agreed, with a decisive nod of her head. “We definitely had fun. But I paid for the fun I had that night.”

  Rena sighed heavily, weary from arguing with her friend. “Look, Megan,” she said patiently, hoping to make her friend understand. “I know my leaving Clayton seems impulsive, irrational, maybe even a mistake. And perhaps it is,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last few months. Not just about my relationship with Clayton, but about me, and I’ve discovered some things about myself that I don’t like very much.

  “For years I allowed my parents to control my life, based my happiness on their approval. And when I married Clayton, I simply transferred that control to him. I don’t blame him,” she said quickly when Megan appeared as if she was about to argue. “Not totally, anyway. Although I do believe things might have been different if Clayton had been willing to be more of a husband to me and more of a father to the children, if he’d only loved us more and been willing to show his love for us. But I realized that nothing was going to change for us or me,” she added emphatically, “unless I made some changes myself.”

  “And leaving Clayton is your answer to your problems?” Megan asked doubtfully.

  “Partially. I need to learn to stand on my own two feet. To be independent.” Rena smiled softly, thinking of the steps she’d already taken in that direction. “I’ve bought a house in Salado, a wonderful old place that the twins and I can live in while I restore it. And I’m starting an interior design business, something I’ve always dreamed of doing but…” she smiled ruefully, not wanting to place blame. “Well, let’s just say I allowed others to keep me from pursuing that dream.”

  “Oh, Rena,” Megan began sorrowfully.

  But before she could say more a shrill voice called from the patio. “Rena! Rena, dear! You have a guest.”

  Hearing the displeasure in her mother’s voice, Rena didn’t need to turn to see who her visitor was…but she did, anyway. And when she did, she saw that Clayton was already walking down the flagstone path that led to the pool, not waiting for an invitation to join her. His stride was long and loose, yet purposeful, his shoulders broad beneath a crisp black Western shirt. The jeans he wore hugged his hips and thighs and hung low over his boot heels, the starched denim fabric creating a soft whisking sound with each step he took on the uneven stone path.

  Heat flooded her face at the sight of him, every nerve burning with awareness, and she was grateful that the sunglasses hid her eyes from him…without them she was certain he’d see the yearning in them.

  “In fact, I’m still paying for that fun,” she murmured under her breath.

  Megan rose, smiling. “Clayton!” she called, her pleasure obvious. “It’s so good to see you again.”

  Clayton swept off his hat and stretched out a hand, his expression guarded. “Megan. It’s been a while.”

  “More than a while. Years!” she exclaimed, laughing as she squeezed his hand between hers. “How are you?”

  Clayton glanced quickly at Rena, one corner of his mouth dipping into a scowl. “I’ve been better.”

  Megan glanced over her shoulder at Rena. “Yes,” she said sympathetically as she turned back to Clayton. “I would imagine you have.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and rose to her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “But the war’s not over, yet,” she whispered close to his ear.

  She laughed when he ducked his head, his cheeks reddening. “Still the same shy cowboy, I see,” she teased.

  “Clayton shy?” Rena snorted and rose from her chair. “That’ll be the day.”

  “Sure he is,” Megan replied and shot Clayton a sly wink. “And he’s so cute when he blushes, don’t you think?”

  Rena glanced at Clayton, then away, frowning. “If you say so,” she said, refusing to rise to the bait.

  Clayton snugged his hat back over his head, irritated by his wife’s indifference. “If you’ll excuse us, Megan,” he said, glaring at Rena’s back. “Rena and I have some business to discuss.”

  “Clayton!” Rena cried in dismay, whirling to look at him. “How rude. Megan only just arrived.”

  “That’s okay,” Megan said, and scooped her purse from the patio table. “I need to go, anyway. I’m supposed to meet Harold at the club for lunch.” She gave Rena a quick hug. “I’ll call you later,” she said, giving Rena a meaningful look, then turned to leave, whispering to Clayton as she brushed past him, “Hang in there, cowboy. I’m on your side.”

  Clayton waited until Megan was out of earshot before turning to Rena. “Where are the kids?”

  Furious with him for the way he’d rushed Megan off, Rena dropped down onto the lounge chair and snatched up the bottle of sunscreen again. “With Dad.”

  “I’d like to see them.”

  “When?”

  “Do I have to make an appointment to see my own kids?”

  She heard the resentment in his voice and bit back her own caustic retort, knowing she wasn’t being fair. After all, they were his children, too. “No,” she replied as she spread the cream over her right calf. “But, in the future, you might want to call first to make certain they’re here before you drop by.”

  Clayton watched her smooth the cream over her calf, then up her thigh, his gaze lingering on the sun-warmed flesh her skimpy bikini left exposed. Setting his jaw against the desire he f
elt rising, he dropped down on the foot of the chair Megan had vacated and braced his elbows on his thighs as he looked out across the pool. “When are we going to talk about this, Rena?”

  “Talk about what?” she asked and calmly squirted more cream onto her palm.

  He angled his head over his shoulder to look at her. “About our marriage.”

  She snorted a laugh and swept her hand across her middle, smearing the cream over her bare abdomen. “What marriage?”

  “Our marriage,” he shot back. “The one you seem so anxious to end.”

  “We don’t have a marriage, Clayton. We have nothing but a legal document that binds us together.”

  “We damn sure do have a marriage, and a family, too,” he told her furiously. “And I think it’s high time you quit playing whatever little game this is you’re playing and come home where you belong.”

  She slammed the bottle down on the table hard enough to make the carved iron legs wobble. Grabbing the chair’s arms, she jerked herself forward and leaned across the distance that separated them, putting her face only inches from his. “This isn’t a game, Clayton,” she warned him darkly. “This is my life we’re talking about.”

  He ripped off his hat, tossing it to the tiled deck that skirted the kidney-shaped pool, and twisted around to face her fully. Though frightened by the anger that turned his blue eyes to steel, Rena refused to shrink away from him.

  “And mine,” he grated out. “And, by God, I have a right to know why you left me.”

  “Why?” she asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Does it hurt your male pride to have to tell your traveling buddies, Pete and Troy, that your wife left you?”

  He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, taking her by surprise, and yanked her closer still, his fingers digging into her bare skin.

  She struggled, trying to get free. “Clayton! Let go of me!”

  He dug his fingers deeper. “Don’t mess with me, Rena,” he warned. “I’ve already listened to about all the verbal abuse I can stomach for one day.”