Cowboy for Keeps

by Cathy McDavid

  Was it true or strictly for Conner’s benefit?

  “We’re on our way to the TV station. For the interview. I told you last night.”

  So they had talked last night. In person, apparently, because Richard had dropped something off. Was that why Dallas hadn’t invited Conner to stay over?

  This had to stop. Now.

  He forced his attention fully on the road. Traffic was increasing the closer they traveled to downtown Phoenix. Dallas had every right and reason to talk to Richard, the father of her baby, and would be doing so the rest of their lives. Conner had better get used to it.

  “A friend, is all. Someone I work with.”

  What would Richard say if he knew the friend was Conner? Probably be as jealous as Conner was of him.

  “I have to go,” Dallas said brusquely. “Yes. I will. Call you later.” Expelling a tired sigh, she leaned her head against the rest. “I really didn’t want that right before the interview.”

  Conner contemplated putting a reassuring hand on her knee, but didn’t.

  “There’s nothing between Richard and me,” she said.

  “What?”

  “In case you’re wondering.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You’re grinding your teeth.”

  He immediately stopped. “Traffic’s congested. I’m suppressing road rage.”

  She reached over, pried one of his hands loose from the steering wheel and held it in hers. “Look at me, Conner.”

  He did. For two seconds, because traffic really was congested.

  She squeezed his fingers until he relaxed.

  They stayed like that, holding hands, until a phone chimed. This time it was his.

  Sonoran Bottling came up on the display, and a lightning streak of exhilaration cut through him.

  “I think it’s Sunday Givens.”

  “Pull over,” Dallas instructed.

  Placing the phone to his ear, he swung the truck into the first entrance they came to, which happened to be a bank. “Hello. This is Conner Durham.”

  Dallas shut off the radio.

  “Conner, hi. It’s Sunday Givens. How are you today?”

  “I’m fine. Nice to hear from you.”

  “Is this a good time to talk?”

  He pulled into an empty space and parked, letting the engine idle. “I have a few minutes.”

  “I can’t tell you what a good fit you are for the position and what a delight it’s been, getting to know you. The board was very impressed by you and your résumé, and they’re not easily swayed. There isn’t one candidate I’ve interviewed I like better than you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Here it came. She was going to extend the official offer! Beside him, Dallas beamed.

  “Which is why,” Sunday continued, “it’s so difficult for me to deliver this news.”

  Inch by inch, Conner’s vision dimmed until only the center of the steering wheel remained.

  “I’m sorry. The board chose another candidate. One whose experience is more closely aligned with a bottling plant than energy systems are. I could overrule their decision, but I don’t feel it’s warranted under the circumstances.”

  He was quite sure his heart had stopped beating. That something inside him had broken.

  “Conner? Did I lose you?” Sunday’s voice sounded a hundred miles away.

  “I understand.” His tone was flat. Empty.

  “If this individual turns out not be the best choice, we’ll absolutely bring you on board.”

  The rest of what she said was an unintelligible humming.

  He hadn’t gotten the job. They’d hired someone else.

  Evidently he must have muttered a response, for Sunday apologized again, wished him well and bade him goodbye.

  “Oh, Conner.” Dallas leaned across the console and stroked his arm. “I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted that job.”

  He had, and his disappointment at not landing it left a giant, gaping hole inside him. Three days wasted when he could have been job hunting. What if the ideal one had been posted and he missed it?

  Anger rose up in him like an exploding geyser.

  Swearing, he threw the truck in Reverse and peeled out of the parking lot, slowing only when he reached the road. He had a passenger, a pregnant passenger. Now wasn’t the time to vent his frustration by driving recklessly.

  He and Dallas spoke little on the remaining drive to the TV station. Conner reminded himself over and over that it could be worse. He still had employment, even if he didn’t earn enough to cover all his expenses. If he swallowed his pride, sold the house at a substantial loss, he’d be better off.

  If he could even sell it. The real estate market wasn’t what it used to be.

  Dammit! That would teach him to assume.

  At the TV station, he held open the glass door at the front entrance for Dallas, attempting to quell the tremors in his arms and legs.

  She went ahead to the front desk and checked in. They were escorted by a very pregnant assistant something-or-other down a series of winding halls to a studio.

  Conner didn’t generally watch the Arizona Today show, but he’d caught bits of it now and then and he recognized the set. Dallas was correct when she’d said it would look different than on TV.

  “Please wait here.” The woman pointed to a director’s chair positioned a considerable distance off set. “Ms. Sorrenson, if you’ll come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Hair and makeup.”

  Dallas’s fingers flew to her hair and then her cheek.

  “Just a touch-up. For the lights.” The woman gave her a once-over. “You look fine. And congratulations. When are you due?”

  “Early April.”

  “Your first?”

  “Yes.

  The woman patted her large belly in a manner similar to how Dallas patted her smaller one. “My second.” She turned to Conner. “You must be excited, Dad. There’s nothing like having your first baby.”

  Conner waited for Dallas to correct the woman, tell her that he wasn’t the baby’s father.

  Instead she stammered something about her parents and this being their first grandchild.

  He tried not to read too much into it as he watched the two of them walk away. Dallas was nervous. Distracted. She might not even have noticed the other woman’s comment.

  He observed the camera operators, stage manager, director and an array of other workers scurrying to and fro, half of them wearing headsets. It was an interesting process and completely unfamiliar to Conner. He’d have taken more of an interest if he wasn’t replaying the phone call with Sunday over and over in his head.

  Eventually, two cohosts emerged, took their places in the stylish, ultramodern chairs, and the show began. Conner barely followed what was said, their supercharged personalities annoying him. A commercial break was followed by more of the show and another commercial break. When they returned, Dallas was introduced.

  She entered the set, looking stunning. Conner concentrated, listened to her answer with poise and confidence the questions put to her. A nearby TV monitor showed what the viewers at home were seeing.

  After a warning from the hosts about viewer discretion, photos of Chiquita appeared, the arrows protruding. Then close-ups of her ghastly wounds. The hosts expressed appropriate outrage and sympathy. The interview continued briefly before taking a surprising turn. Dallas’s other
accomplishments were mentioned and praised, several of her commercial photographs shown. She accepted the compliments humbly and with grace.

  Her career would skyrocket after today. How could it not? And she deserved everything coming to her.

  Didn’t Conner deserve more than he had? Hadn’t he worked just as hard as Dallas? Just as hard as Richard? He possessed two degrees. Had given years of loyal, dedicated, exemplary service to his employer.

  He blinked, realizing Dallas’s interview was over and he’d missed the end. When had she left the set?

  She must be waiting in the green room or whatever they called it.

  The assistant something-or-other appeared in front of him. “Did you like the show, Mr. Sorrenson?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Your wife’s a natural.”

  Say it. Tell her Dallas isn’t your wife.

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “A...ranch.”

  The woman looked impressed. “You own a ranch?”

  “Work on one.”

  “Oh.” She was no longer impressed.

  It didn’t matter that he’d once earned three times what she probably did, had owned a garage full of vehicles and vacationed every year in exciting locales.

  He was nothing but a ranch hand who deserved no more than an “Oh.”

  How soon until Dallas said it with that exact same telltale tone?

  People on their way up in the world didn’t usually remain long with someone on his way down.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Sorrenson?” The woman leaned closer. “Can I get you some water?”

  “Air.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I need air.” His lungs seemed to have filled with a dense fiber that blocked the flow of oxygen. “And my name is Durham. Conner Durham. Not Sorrenson.”

  He stood and stumbled past the woman, instinctively heading though the maze of hallways to the front entrance. Only when he was outside could he draw a decent breath.

  * * *

  “THANKS, MOM.” Dallas cradled her cell phone between her shoulder and ear. “I’ll be by later.”

  “For dinner?”

  She smiled. “Sure. We can watch the show together.”

  For the second time, Dallas thought. She’d set her own DVR to record the Arizona Today show and planned on watching the episode the minute she arrived home. Hopefully, with Conner, if he didn’t have to leave immediately for work.

  Work at the ranch, not the bottling plant. She still didn’t quite know what to say to him. He’d rebuffed all her efforts.

  “See you around six,” Marina said. “And bring Conner.”

  “All right. We’ll see. Love you, Mom.” Studying his stoic expression, Dallas gave another stab at starting a conversation with him. “She said the interview went really well.”

  “It did.”

  Finally, he spoke! They were almost at her house and hadn’t exchanged four words since she’d found him waiting outside the TV station.

  “I didn’t come off too silly? I wasn’t expecting them to show any photos other than the ones of Chiquita.”

  “That woman, the pregnant one, she called you a natural.”

  “Really?” Pleasure and pride flowed through Dallas. She’d wanted to do well. The call from Richard and then Conner’s bad news had thrown her off balance. She was glad that hadn’t come across.

  “I’m sure you’ll get a lot of new clients after today.”

  “You think?” She checked her cell phone. No text message or voice mail icons were flashing.

  Well, that was stupid. As if a call would come in so soon after the show.

  “What’s most important is that we find the person who shot Chiquita and prevent something like that from ever happening again. It’s why I did the interview, not to generate new business.”

  Though it would be nice.

  “There’s nothing wrong with accomplishing both.”

  He’d waited such a long time before responding, she’d begun to think he’d retreated behind that wall again.

  “Mom invited us to dinner tonight. You and me. To watch the show with them. She recorded it.”

  There was another pause before he answered. “I’m working late. To make up for taking off this morning.”

  Dallas didn’t quite believe him, but she let it slide. He was wounded. Parading her good fortune in front of him made it worse. She’d give him whatever time he needed to recover, including distance from her for an evening if that was what he wanted.

  It wasn’t what she wanted, however. If she could, she’d wrap him in her arms and hold him until his pain lessened.

  They reached her condo, and he parked where he usually did along the curb.

  Usually? Had their relationship progressed to that point?

  Yes. They were involved. Intimate. A couple.

  But were they capable of handling the multitude of challenges facing them? The baby. Richard. Conner’s financial worries and employment situation. Her recent successes.

  She was capable. She was less certain of Conner.

  Before this morning, before the phone call from Sunday Givens, she’d have counted on him without a single hesitation. Now, he’d withdrawn. Shut her out instead of accepting the support she willingly tendered.

  That wasn’t what couples did.

  It was temporary, Dallas told herself. He’d take a few well-deserved hours to brood and then he’d be back to his old self.

  If only he’d gotten the job. How different the ride home would have been.

  He walked her to her door.

  She dug for her keys. “Want to come in?”

  “I have to...”

  “Work. I know.” She circled his neck with her free arm, intending to kiss him.

  To her surprise, he set her aside. “I’ve changed my mind. I will come in for a few minutes.”

  “Good.” Except the look in his eyes was anything but good. Something serious, something more than the job, was eating at him.

  In the kitchen, she deposited her purse and portfolio on the table. Conner, she noticed, didn’t remove his hat or jacket. Charming and Snow White both appeared, but remained under the kitchen table, watching with wide, owl-like eyes.

  “I have an idea,” Dallas announced, infusing her voice with cheerfulness. “Let me call the head of the AAWA.”

  “About Chiquita?”

  “No, you. The association is large, and even though they’re nonprofit, they have all kinds of paid positions. Several at the management level.”

  He spoke slowly. “For me?”

  “Yes, for you.” She went to him, slid her arms into his jacket and around his waist. “I could also contact a few of my clients. Ask if they’re hiring.”

  “No.” He stiffened.

  “It can’t hurt to ask.”

  He pulled away from her so fast she was left standing alone in the middle of the floor.

  “I don’t need your handouts. I can find a job on my own.”

  “It’s not a handout. I’m just trying to help.”

  “I get it. You’d rather have a boyfriend with a real job. A good job. One you can brag about to your friends. Like Richard. Not someone who’s just a ranch hand.”

  She gasped sharply. “That isn’t true.”

  “Isn’t it?” Conner’s features were a storm of hurt and anger. “What do you say when your friends ask you what I do for a living?”

&nb
sp; “I say you’re a systems analyst. Which you are. And while you’re looking for a new job, you’re running the mustang sanctuary, managing the livestock at Clay’s rodeo arena and in charge of training horses at Powell Ranch.”

  “I’m none of those things.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I work for Gavin. Just like I work for Clay. I’m not running or managing or in charge of anything. And I’m an out-of-work systems analyst. You make me sound better than I am.”

  “You are better. I don’t have to—”

  “That woman at the TV station called me Mr. Sorrenson.”

  Was that what was bothering him?

  “It’s a natural mistake. People called me Mrs. Kassor all the time when Richard and I were engaged.”

  “She also assumed I was your baby’s father. Why didn’t you set her straight?”

  Why hadn’t she?

  She shrugged. “I didn’t think about it. I was concentrating on the interview.”

  Okay, he was upset about the Sonoran Bottling job going to someone else. But Dallas had done nothing wrong. She’d shown compassion and sympathy. Had tried to console and encourage him. So she painted him in the best possible way to her friends. Who wasn’t guilty of that?

  “Whatever I did to upset you, Conner, tell me. Please.”

  “I am what I am. Making me sound better doesn’t change me.”

  “I’m not trying to change you. I don’t care what you do for a living as long as you’re happy.”

  “That’s just it. I’m not happy. I don’t want to be a ranch hand forever. But I’m not ashamed of it, either.”

  “Neither am I. I’m proud of what you do.”

  “Then why don’t you tell people the truth?”

  “What’s wrong with casting things in the best possible light?”

  “That power of positive thinking you’re always pushing?”

  She’d mind less if his tone wasn’t snide. “It’s not my fault my career is taking off and you still haven’t found a job,” she stated.

  He recoiled.

  “I’m sorry, Conner. That was thoughtless.” And much crueler than what he’d said to her.