by Anna Jeffrey
My heart is in your hands.
Say you’ll love me, too.
Again.”
The song ended on a soft note and a chord that died away. Hearing some of his feelings put into lyrics Ben had written, Terry felt the hairs on his neck stand up.
“Just worked that little ditty out this week,” the musician said. “Calling it ‘The Journey.’ How’d you like it?”
“Sounds okay. Who’s gonna sing it?” Terry didn’t care who sang it. He had asked Ben the question to distract himself from the pointed words.
“Don’t know yet. Coupla fellers lookin’ at it.”
Am I trying to convince myself Marisa wasn’t what I had planned? Terry asked himself. Nah. That was bullshit. What he felt was frustration. He was drawn to her because, with her prickly personality, she never seemed to be in sync with him. He had a deeply ingrained desire to see everyone happy and agreeable. Being the control freak that he readily acknowledged he was, he couldn’t keep from picking at a situation where someone wasn’t playing on his court. He likened the quirk to worrying an unhealed sore.
Before he could get into a conversation with Ben about the song, Bob Nichols approached from behind Ben’s singlewide, walking as if he were barefoot on a carpet of broken glass. “Good afternoon,” he said, almost whispering.
“Hi, Bob,” Terry said, his own voice involuntarily lowering. Agua Dulce’s water well leaped into his mind. While in Fort Worth, he’d had several conversations with the state regulatory agencies regarding the well. After learning he wouldn’t have to drill a new well right away, he had made a decision to allow Nichols and Mr. Patel to continue to use the water, a move that should make Marisa happy. He was eager to tell her about it.
“Hey, Spaceman. Who you talkin’ to today?” Ben gave a deep heh-heh-heh. His voice didn’t grow softer. “Lemme guess. Somebody on Venus?”
“Oh, much farther than Venus,” Bob answered, glaring at his tormentor with an offended look. “I’ve recorded some very interesting thumps. A mathematical rhythm, if you will, similar to your music.”
Ben cocked his head and arched his brow. “No shit? You don’t suppose that was my bass string you heard?” He plucked a thick string and produced a loud growling sound.
Bob Nichols’ face contorted into a wince, his brow tented in a hurt expression. Though Terry suspected these two might play this verbal ping-pong every day, he still felt sorry for Nichols. He had seen and heard enough of the little guy to be convinced that he believed his fantasies about aliens and space travelers.
From his perch on the top step, Ben looked down at Terry. “You gonna be around for the weddin’?”
“Who’s getting married?”
“Why, Lanny and Marisa. After he inked the deal to sell out to you, he asked her. She’s taking Raylene and going to Colorado with him.”
Terry’s mind reeled. A fist to the gut couldn’t have been more shocking.
“Now that you’ve bought Lanny’s ranch, will you be asking me to tear out my spaceport?”
Nichols’ whispery voice brought Terry back to earth and he turned to see Bob Nichols’ eyes staring him down. The eccentric little guy must not yet know that Winegardner had refused to sell the chunk of land where the UFO landing pad was located. Land that had valuable highway frontage, too. Terry had tried to talk the rancher into including it in the XO sale, but he wouldn’t budge. “I’ve known Bob Nichols for over twenty years,” Winegardner had said. “He’s never harmed even a ladybug. I’m gonna let him keep using that little piece of land.”
At that statement, Terry had ceased to debate. Getting control of the mineral rights where he had mentally mapped out his subdivision had been far more important than acquiring the small parcel of ground Nichols happened to be using for his space traveler experiments.
“Uh, no, Bob, don’t worry about it. Lanny will be deeding that ground to you when we close on the deal.”
The squinty eyes that showed between Nichols’ mop of white hair and beard grew wide. “Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe it.” The eyes teared and Nichols clasped his stubby hands in front of his chest. “Oh, my gosh. I’m so grateful. He won’t be sorry. When They come, you’ll see. Everyone will see.”
“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” Ben said. “I knew ol’ Lanny was a generous guy, but that’s just too much.”
“Why would you say that?” Nichols asked indignantly. His voice raised a note louder than Terry had ever heard him speak. “Maybe he has an interest in science.”
Here they go again, Terry thought, his thoughts still jumbled and disorganized after hearing about Marisa marrying Winegardner. Fuck. Were things going to start going to hell again? Winegardner might be a nice guy, but he was old enough to be Marisa’s father. “I’m not making any changes in the RV park for now.” He stood, restless. “When’s she getting married?”
“I’m not certain she is,” Nichols said. “She hasn’t said so for sure.”
“Well, she might as well,” Ben argued. “Hell, Spaceman, she ain’t got a choice when you get down to cases.”
“Everyone always has a choice, Ben.” Nichols squared his shoulders as he looked at Seagrave. “People always do what they want to do, Ben. That’s something I’ve learned. People always do exactly what they want to.”
The statement came eerily close to expressing one of Terry’s own beliefs. In fact, he had said something similar many times. It was unnerving, having a philosophical tenet in common with someone as crazy as Bob Nichols.
As he looked at the motel owner, he was reminded of the work his assistant, Kim, was doing back in Fort Worth, nailing down a motel franchise. Only his promise to Larson’s development team that he would build a franchise motel had brought them back on board. He didn’t yet know which franchise he would settle on, but any project that had the Terry Ledger signature on it would be modern and efficient. And it would, coincidentally, wipe out the Starlight Inn’s business. The trade-off of Bob using Agua Dulce’s well water compared to losing his motel business didn’t strike Terry as being fair, but he hadn’t figured out what to do about that yet.
In truth, one of the reasons he hadn’t ardently pursued a motel franchise before now was because he had few complaints about the Starlight Inn as it existed. It might look like a cluster of cereal boxes on the exterior, but inside it was clean and neat and Nichols seemed to be effective at running it. The dichotomy of a man who had spent thousands building a UFO landing field being able to operate an efficient business was mind-boggling.
But at this moment, more worrisome was what was going on with Marisa. What was wrong with her? Was it money?
It had to be money. A flurry of disappointment overtook the jealousy Terry felt. He had elevated Marisa above all of the women he knew, and it was off-putting to learn she would marry someone for money. He glanced toward Pecos Belle’s. “Café open? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
Ben rubbed his bare belly with a gnarled hand. “Yep. I had chicken and dumplin’s over there earlier. That Marisa’s a helluva cook. I’ll probably starve to death when she leaves.”
“Yeah, could be,” Terry said absently, distressed because the thought of her leaving just when he had found her caused a knot in his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. “Guess I’ll go over and get a bite to eat.” He started for his truck.
“Better get a move on,” Ben called from behind him. “She’d prob’ly like to close up.”
Chapter 17
And closing up was what Terry found her doing when he reached the café. Standing on her tiptoes, cleaning the top of the Coke dispenser, she was wearing boots, faded Levi’s and a silky green tank top. “Hey,” he said, hesitating where the flea market ended and the café’s small dining area began. The cool, damp air from the swamp cooler touched his skin and gave him a momentary shiver.
She turned her head his way and smiled, but went right on with her cleaning. “Hey, yourself,” she said.
Was she glad to see him? He couldn’t
tell.
Her cropped tank top showed a narrow slice of bare skin at her waist....and a gold belly ring. Sensation shot to Terry’s groin. Christ, what was wrong with him? He knew women who wore navel rings. But on her tan skin and barely peeking from beneath her shirt bottom, the tiny gold ring seemed erotic.
Sitting down on one of the padded vinyl stools, he adjusted his crotch in the privacy under the lunch counter.
“When’d you get back?” she asked.
He propped his elbows on the cool counter and clasped his hands. “Hour or so ago. Did you miss me?”
She turned to him again and grinned. “Sure. Sales in the cafe dropped.”
Terry chuckled, enjoying the relaxed camaderie. “You all buttoned up for the night?”
She put down her bottle of cleaner and her towels. “Not yet. Want something?”
Oh, boy. Was that a loaded question. His sex life had been screwed up and nonexistent ever since he bought this damn town. And met this woman. “Whatcha got?”
“Chicken and dumplings and some coleslaw. I baked yeast rolls today. Three left.”
“Sounds great.”
She went back to the kitchen, then returned with a plate of steaming food and the three rolls. He waited for her to ask him where he had been. If she did, he would tell her. He would also like to tell her that he had passed up several opportunities for casual sex and broken up with a girlfriend because of her. When she didn’t ask the question, he said, “I just saw Ben.”
She smiled again. “Was he sober?”
“Partially.” The food smelled delicious. He sliced into a tender piece of chicken.
She picked up her towel again and started wiping the far end of the back counter. “Poor Ben. I can’t remember the last time I saw him completely sober.”
“He was working on a new song. Didn’t sound too bad, either. Have you heard it?” He liked being able to join in the gossip the Agua Dulcians shared with each other. It gave him an odd sense of family. He slipped a bite of dumpling and creamy sauce into his mouth and his taste buds rejoiced.
“No, but that’s good he’s working on something. I don’t think he’s taken a serious stab at it for a long time.”
She had been methodically cleaning the back counter and now had reached the end, near where he sat. She turned around, giving him a pointed look and planting a fist on her hip. Her breast shifted and the impression of her nipple showed under the clingy, silky top. The gold navel ring peeped from between her shirt hem and the waistband of her jeans. “I don’t know what will happen to Ben when you close the RV park and he has to move away from here. Far as I know, he has absolutely no one to care about him but us here in Agua Dulce.”
In the whole three weeks Terry had been in Fort Worth, he had heard no criticism of his actions or derision of his motives. Most people with whom he interacted agreed with him and approved of whatever he wanted. Now, he wondered if they were phony and if it was Marisa and her critical attitude that were real. “I might not close down the RV park. I might dress it up a little and continue with it.”
There was no might about it. He had to make improvements and keep it going if he wanted to see a sale to Larson’s Truck & Travel Stops materialize. That had been another of the provisions the Oklahoma company had tacked on to agreeing to buy his site and build their trademark truck and travel stop.
“Really? That’s good news for all of us.” She stepped across the narrow space between the back counter and the lunch counter and placed her palms on the counter’s edge, her breasts level with his eyes. “Did you know the real name for chicken and dumplings is fricassee? But in Texas it always has been and always will be chicken and dumplings.”
Terry forced his eyes up to hers and held her gaze for a few seconds. He was almost close enough to kiss her and his mouth yearned to do just that. “You’re really into food, aren’t you?”
“Some people paint pictures, study UFOs....Uproot entire towns. I do food. Want dessert? All I’ve got is ice cream.”
A visual of a scoop of ice cream slowly melting on her warm, tan belly and him licking it off around that gold belly ring formed in his mind and he could tell by the sly look in her eye she had read his thoughts. “I’m good,” he said.
Her eyes held his for a few seconds. It was bothersome having her know everything going on in his head—and in his pants. He glanced up at the Coca-Cola clock above the soda machine, saw it was seven o’clock. “Uh, if you’re ready to lock up, I’ll take you home.”
She frowned. “I don’t need to be taken home. It’s two hundred feet away.”
An urge to compete with Winegardner seized him, yet he hesitated, unsure exactly why and for what he was fighting. “Then, would you allow me to take you home? I’d like to talk to you.”
“Well, I don’t know.” Looking past him, she let out a great breath. “You should know something. I’m going out with Lanny. Sort of. We can’t do what we...We can’t have a repeat of that night in your trailer.”
Terry willed himself not to react, but with her statement, the action going on inside his shorts began to shrivel. “Going steady, huh?”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic. Lanny and I are thinking about getting married. Ben must have said something about it.”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic. I guess that’s good for you and Lanny both.” Terry forced himself to smile, but she didn’t smile back. Emotion showed in her eyes, but it wasn’t the mindless joy of a prospective bride.
She began straightening the clustered menu, napkin holder, sugar dispenser and salt and pepper shakers. The long muscles in her arms worked as her hands moved efficiently and he thought about those able hands touching his intimate places. Finally gathering his nerve, he put down his fork and settled his gaze on her profile. “You don’t have to, you know.”
Her motion stopped, but she didn’t look his way. After a few seconds, she resumed her task. “You don’t know what I have to do. You don’t know me. And aside from what your spies have come up with, you don’t know much about me.”
“I haven’t spied on you, Marisa. I was thinking all the way from Fort Worth. I was hoping to change things. With us. You and me.”
She gave him one of her direct looks that always left him a little speechless and he did his damnedest to hide the longing that must be glowing like neon on his face.
“To what end?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
A slim, delectable shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Every trail has an end. No point in starting out if you don’t have somewhere to go.”
He couldn’t keep from squinting in puzzlement. Was she so old-fashioned it would take commitment to get close to her?...Or to get her into his bed? Was she talking about commitment?...From him?...
No doubt she was. All women wanted commitment.
So if that’s what she wanted, what the hell did he want? He didn’t even know. Christ, his whole personal life had gotten fucked up since he came to Agua Dulce. “I’m still not sure what you mean.”
A wise smile—or maybe it was a smirk—tipped one corner of her mouth and the little mole at the corner of her lip moved. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
****
Terry spent a miserable night, his thoughts racing like a mouse in a maze. After Marisa locked up, he had driven her around the corner of the building to the singlewide where she and her mother lived, but the conversation they’d had in his truck was about her mother’s paintings. Not what he had intended at all. She hadn’t said she was or wasn’t marrying Lanny.
As he lay staring into the dark, though he hadn’t seen her naked, his imagination had no trouble painting that picture and before long, his brain began forming an even more disturbing picture of her naked body in the arms of a naked Lanny Winegardner. He thrashed in bed until he awoke at daylight and set out on a run through the desert.
The morning sky began to turn pink and he identified the silhouette of an ocotillo ahead. The smell of sulphur gas floated
on the cool morning air. Ah, West Texas. No other place like it. “Why was I so damn stupid?” he mumbled as his rhythmic footfalls on the rocky ground echoed in his ears. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face.
Why had he thought clearing his life of other women would allow him to take up with Marisa like snapping his fingers? He had never had control of even a conversation with her, much less anything beyond that. From the day she learned who he was, she had kept him off balance and on the defensive.
At the end of five miles, he had reached a conclusion and made a decision. Even if he succeeded in “getting somewhere” with Marisa, then what? She was complicated and had many problems that were obvious and no telling how many that werent. Though Terry Wilson Ledger had never given up on anything in his life, he had to give up on Marisa. Everything he had working was at stake.
Pissed off at himself for being a sucker, he showered and shaved, threw his gear into his truck and drove up to Ruidoso for some gambling, but he was back by Monday morning. Casino gambling wasn’t his type of risk taking.
Spending Monday on the phone arguing with state and county agencies about septic tanks and drain fields in Rancho Casero did nothing to improve his irritable state of mind. Normally, he never argued with bureaucrats. Normally he cajoled and persuaded them to a point of view closer to his own. Today, he didn’t have the patience.
Through Kim on his cell phone, he negotiated a new contract to build a five-thousand-square-foot house in a country club subdivision in Fort Worth. Something for Chick to do when his crews weren’t buried by construction in Rancho Casero.
He ate his meals in his mobile home.
The next day, Kim called and told him they had a deal for a Days Inn motel franchise and a weight lifted from his shoulders. She faxed him a pile of documents to review.
Later Brad England called and reported that his preliminary design for Ledger Ranches was ready for inspection. He needed Terry back in Fort Worth.
Terry threw his gear together again and left early the next morning, but not before Marisa had opened the café. Since he didn’t know when he would return, he stopped in to pay his tab.