by Tess Oliver
I rolled my bike over to the stand and propped it up. I pulled down my goggles and yanked off my helmet and gloves. The knuckles were still black and blue but they were back to normal size. The women looked up as I walked toward them.
“Did you girls catch when I grabbed the inside line and shot past Denver?”
Finley dug out a water and handed it to me. “We could say yes, Rodeo, but we’d be lying just to stroke your ego.”
“My ego says it’s all right with a little lying and a little stroking. I never say no to stroking.”
“In that case,” Sayler spoke up, “not only did we see it, but we were all speechless in awe.”
“Thank you.” I looked at Finley. “Now was that so hard?”
“Hey, Rodeo, saw you got smoked by Einstein . . . again,” Rett called from the back of the truck.
“Well, it was nice while it lasted.” I took off the bottle cap and chugged the water down as I walked over to the truck. We watched as Denver raced past everyone on the track. “Denver from Boston needs a fucking woman to sap some of that bottled up energy.” I leaned against the truck and finished my water.
“Speaking of women,” Rett said with a glance back toward Sayler. “Looks like someone finally lassoed the freestyle cowboy for good. She’s already got Fin and Kensie’s seal of approval, that’s for sure. By the way, Fin already sold Sayler two tickets to the fundraiser out at the barn next weekend. So you better pull those cowboy boots out of the cobwebs cuz there’s going to be line dancing.”
Cole laughed. “Thought my dad was performing. Did you talk him into singing country?”
“Sure did.”
Cole’s face snapped toward him. “You’re shitting me.”
“Would I do that? You underestimate the power your sister has over your dad.”
“You’re right. How could I even question it.”
Rett slapped my arm with the back of his hand. “Hey, Montana boy, how’s your Texas Two Step?”
“Shit, I think it’s still stuck down in Texas.”
“Who’s doing the Texas Two Step?” Finley asked as the girls approached.
Rett inclined his head my direction. “With a nickname like Rodeo, we pegged this guy for an expert line dancer. But he says no.”
“Bullshit,” Sayler piped up.
I shot her a look. “Don’t be shooting that squinty eyed look at me, cowboy.” She walked up and took hold of my hand. “This guy is the Mikhail Baryshnikov of the country line dance.”
“Who?” Cole, Rett and I asked in perfect unison.
“Oh my gosh, you cave dwellers,” Finley said, “he’s one of the greatest ballet dancers of all time.”
“And, according to my mom, in his day he was quite dreamy,” Kensington added. She glanced at Sayler and Finley. “Think it was the tights.”
Cole rolled his eyes. “Damn, I’ll write that little unimportant fact down for future reference. And I’ll add a note about getting some of those tights.”
“You’d look good in tights,” I said. “Seriously, man, they’d do you justice.”
“I agree.” Cole hopped off the bed of the truck. “Well, I’m off for a ride.”
The girls had been hatching some plan between them. “Sweetie,” Kensington piped up, “can you put on some music? We’re bored, and Sayler is going to teach us some steps for the line dance.”
Rett stood up from the truck too. “Yeah, sweetie, you should put on some music.”
“You’re going to dance too?” Cole asked.
“Hell no, I’m just going to watch.”
Sayler walked over and took my hand. “Rodeo is going to join us.”
“I am?”
“You are.”
I shrugged. “What the hell.”
Country music twanged through Cole’s speakers, and in a tribute to my Montana half and my new California half I danced the two step in my clunky motorcycle boots with three beautiful girls, including the hometown girl I loved. Didn’t get any better than that.
Chapter 29
Sayler
Emma Carlton stuck her little pink hands into her shiny blue duffle bag that was stuffed with her dance clothes and drew out a plastic pony. “My mom said I could have a pony when I was big enough to take care of one.” She turned her little face up to me. “Have you ever had a pony, Miss Sayler?” My dance students called me Miss Sayler, and I always loved the way it sounded in their chirpy little voices. Emma’s mom was always late picking her up. She worked at the hospital in the center of town, and often, something at work would hold her up. Miss Jane, the studio owner, had needed to leave early. I told her I’d stay after with Emma to wait for her mom. Tonight she was especially late. It was already dark outside and my stomach was growling with hunger. I was meeting Parker in town for dinner. We’d both been busy with work, but we always made time to see each other.
“I used to have a pony named George. He was black and white and had a beautiful white mane.”
Emma’s eyes rounded at the prospect of a black and white pony. “Do you still have him?”
I thought back to my old friend, George. He had been a solidly built pony, who, unlike most ponies, never gave me little horse attitude. He would walk through any stream or copse of trees and never be startled by anything. “I don’t. George got too old to ride, so now he stands out in a neighbor’s pasture and chews on yummy grass all day until it’s time to go into the barn for bed.”
She laughed. “For bed? Does he put on pajamas?”
“Sort of. He has a blanket. It gets cold where he lives.” A car pulled up to the curb. “There’s your mom, Emma.”
She tucked her plastic pony into the duffle, and I zipped it up for her. Her mom came to the door with the usual look of apology on her face. Emma hopped off the bench, and I carried her duffle.
“So sorry I’m late.”
“No problem. We were just having a pony discussion.”
Her mom shook her head. “She can talk about ponies all day. Guess we might have to consider riding lessons some day.”
“Probably a good idea. That horse obsession doesn’t usually go away. Well, I’ve got to lock up. Good night. See you tomorrow, Emma.” They walked out, and I headed back to the office to turn off the lights and get my stuff.
My phone rang. It was Parker. “Hey, I’m just locking up.”
“Sounds good. I’ll go in and get a table. I’m ready to eat this phone I’m so hungry. Then later I plan on nibbling on something much sweeter for dessert.”
I reached into my duffle for the keys. “Impressive how you can turn any topic dirty. It’s a skill of yours I’ve always admired.”
“Thanks. And it has gotten much better now that you’re on the other end of the dirty talk. Lock up and I’ll see you in five.”
“Bye.” I tossed my duffle over my shoulder and switched on the light that provided a dim glow through the studio. Jane liked it to stay on all night to make it look as if someone was there. Then I turned off the bright lights over the dance floor and headed to the front door. I swung it open and gasped as I nearly ran into the man standing in the shadow of the door awning.
It took me only a second to recognize him. “Kurt.”
“Sayler. I want you to come back home.”
My heart was still racing from the initial shock of nearly colliding with him. Even though his tone was calm and polite, my entire body tensed at the sound of his voice. Every ugly scene and frightening moment was coming back to me in a long, blurry nightmare.
He glanced past me into the studio. “Can I come in off the sidewalk? I just want to talk to you. Please.” He’d grown a dark blonde beard, and his hair was longer than usual.
I backed up and let him inside. “Just for a second. I’m meeting—someone.”
“Parker Stevens?”
I swung my face around to look at him.
“Don’t look so stunned. That’s how I found you. There was an article in the paper about Parker and his FMX career.” He finished the sentence with an angry eye roll, the first clue that he hadn’t changed at all. “Anyhow, imagine my surprise when I picked up the daily news and saw Parker Stevens, the hometown screw-up, on the front page with his arm draped around my wife.”
I took a few discrete steps back, an instinctual habit I’d formed after our first few months of marriage. It was always best to be out of reach of Kurt’s fist. “What are you talking about, Kurt? We divorced. You signed the papers along with me. As far as I’m concerned, there is no connection and definitely no future between us. You’re in my past, and I’m in yours. Let’s just leave it that way.”
He put on his fake kindness expression, a face I’d always hated. “Come on, sweetheart, we were good together—hometown football star and hottest girl in the senior class. It was like we were always meant for each other. And that loser, Stevens, shit what the hell would send you back to him? He was the biggest fuck up in town.”
“I won’t even discuss Parker with you. I’ve moved on, and you need to do the same. There will never ever be anything between us again.” I spoke plainly and was amazed at how confident I sounded when my insides were like butter in a churn.
He walked onto the dance floor and glanced around. “The article said you were teaching little kids how to dance.” The edge of ridicule in his tone made me clench my fists.
“I was just on my way out. You’ll have to leave, Kurt. I need to lock up.” I lifted my chin and walked purposefully to the front door.
He didn’t budge. “Look, Sayler, I’ve taken some anger management classes.”
“Good for you, Kurt. I wish you well. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” As each minute passed, I grew more worried about the situation and wanted to kick myself for allowing him inside. I opened the door. The cool night air ushered in.
“I just flew all the way from Montana,” he said in a chilling, smooth tone. He walked closer. “You could at least give me five fucking minutes of your time!” Each word grew louder and angrier. He reached out and slapped the door shut.
I swung my duffle off my shoulder as a silly, desperate attempt to shield myself. It was back. The expected and no-fail bump in the road. It’d seemed for a fleeting moment in time that I was going to be worry free and happy, incredibly happy for a change.
“Kurt, I just need you to leave. Please.” My forced cool confidence was crumbling. Every second of the terror I’d felt living with the man was coming back, and my head felt light from it as if all the blood in my body had dropped to my feet. “Leave me your number and we’ll talk. I promise.”
He nodded as he combed his hair back with his fingers and the tiny twitching of his beard seemed to signal that he was clenching his jaw. A bad knee had forced him to give up football, but he’d maintained the same frightening bulk, the thick muscles that’d allowed him to crush other players on the field. And they had worked pretty damn well on his slim wife too.
“Right. Why don’t you call me.” His words dripped with harsh sarcasm. He turned toward the door, but I let a sense of relief sweep through me too fast. In one swift move, he swung back around and wrapped his big hands around my arms. My duffle dropped to the floor. My head smacked the wall behind the door as he shoved me up against it. His fingers tightened like steel clamps around my arms as he pushed his face up to mine. “I was willing to overlook the fact that you were the town trash, and now you treat me like this.”
“I wasn’t the town trash. You just made me feel like I was.” I blinked back tears. “You’re hurting my arms. Let me go.” I squirmed in his grasp, but it only made him tighten his grip.
He stared hungrily at my mouth. I turned my face away from him as he pushed his face forward. The front door opened, stopping his kiss attempt cold.
A cry of relief shot from my mouth as I saw Parker’s face peer around the edge of the door. Kurt released me and turned around to face him. Parker looked at Kurt and back at me.
“Holy shit, darlin’, you really do come with a deluxe package of trouble.”
I shrugged weakly, not completely sure how to take his reaction. With everything that had happened in the last month, I would not have blamed Parker at all if he walked back out.
“Excuse me, Stevens, but I’m having a private discussion with my wife.”
I scooted out from behind Kurt. “And as I’ve reminded you, I’m not your wife. I’m not even your friend. I don’t even want to be an acquaintance. Just leave, Kurt, please.”
Kurt’s wide shoulders were set in tight anger as he took a step toward Parker. Kurt might have outweighed him by thirty pounds, but something told me, he was still no match for Parker. But the last thing I wanted was for Parker to get hurt again because of something stupid I’d done. And marrying Kurt had been top of the line stupid.
Parker glanced over at me. “Did you just leave those red marks on her arms?”
“None of your fucking business, scumbag.”
“Man,” Parker said with a shake of his head, “I’m getting tired of this shit.” He turned away, and my heart splintered into pieces. This had been one crappy situation too many. Parker was done with me, and I couldn’t blame him. My throat knotted, and I fought back tears.
Then he twisted back and grabbed Kurt by the throat. He shoved him so hard against the door, the hinges creaked as if they might pop off. Kurt was taken so much by surprise, his eyes bulged in his face, and he flailed his fists uselessly toward Parker. “Greene, do you remember the day I wiped your fucking face all over the floor of the gym? Got a three day suspension, but it was so fucking worth it. Now get the hell out of here and don’t ever go near Sayler again. Or I will gladly repeat that day.” He released Kurt’s throat, and the jerk leaned forward into a coughing fit.
Parker waited for him to recover.
Kurt’s face was beet red as he straightened. He pointed at me. “I’m coming back for you, Sayler.”
“No, no you’re not. That’s what restraining orders are for. But for a little extra insurance—” Parker pulled out his phone.
“Go ahead and call the fucking police,” Kurt said. “I’m the one with the handprint on my neck. I’m going to have you arrested for attempted murder.”
Parker didn’t flinch at his threat. He dialed a number and put the phone against his ear. While he waited for the person to pick up, he reached his hand out toward me. I took it and, like he’d done twice with Chambers, he moved me so that I was standing behind him, out of Kurt’s reach. “Howie, bro, how’s it going?”
I was as confused as the look on Kurt’s face.
“Hey, remember when we were talking and you said that you always wanted to see that asshole, Kurt Greene, get his? Well, I’ve got a great story for you, and it’s all true.”
Kurt’s face blanched, and the redness from the coughing fit turned to the icy pallor of rage.
“Kurt Greene, hometown football hero, was paying Mike Nelson to piss in the cup for him before games. He had to because he knew he wouldn’t pass the drug test. I’m sure if you talk to Mike he’ll confirm the story because Kurt stiffed him on the last payment.”
Kurt lunged at Parker, who quickly slid the phone into his pocket and pushed me out of the way. He ducked but Kurt’s fist still caught the side of his face. Parker stumbled sideways. Kurt followed and reached his meaty hands out to grab Parker. I raced toward him and shoved him as hard as I could. It was like slamming my hands against a brick wall, but it gave Parker the flash of time he needed to recover. He kicked Kurt’s feet out from under him. Kurt dropped back onto his butt with a thud.
Parker pulled his phone out of his pocket. “You still there, Howie? Hold off on p
rinting that until I give you the go ahead. It’s insurance. Thanks, bro. Hey, take care of yourself and good luck with that New York job interview.” He hung up. “That’s it, Greene. Why don’t you just hop on a plane back to Montana or wherever the fuck you want. You’re done here. You’re done with Sayler.”
Kurt got to his feet. I held my breath waiting to see how he would respond. A long tense silence followed.
“You can have her. She’s trash. And you’re trash. You’re perfect for each other.” He stomped out and nearly cracked the wood door as he swung it shut behind him.
I ran to Parker and threw my arms around him. “Brilliant. Even Denver would be impressed.”
“Yeah? Guess it was pretty fucking brilliant.”
He wrapped his arms around me.
“For a second there, I thought you were going to walk out on me.” I snuggled against him.
“Hell no. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”
“You said you were tired of this shit. I thought—”
“Nah, some things are worth fighting for.” He kissed me. “But we’re done now, right?”
“My baggage is empty. Thanks to you.”
Chapter 30
Rodeo
The sky was a perfect blue for the fundraiser. An impressive crowd of people were gathered on picnic benches and in the dance area in front of the portable stage. The air vibrated with anticipation as everyone waited for Nicky King to take the stage.
I walked over to the food area. Vegetarian and vegan were the only options, but there was some damn good food being served. I bought a roasted ear of corn and slathered it with sour cream and chili powder and headed over to the goat pens. Finley had taken several people on a tour, and Sayler had gone with them. She was sitting in the goat pen. A chubby gray goat was standing with its two hooves on Sayler’s thigh nibbling hay from her hand.
Every goat in the pen looked up with interest as I stepped inside with my ear of corn. Two of the bolder ones trotted over and stood up on their hind legs pressing their tiny hooves against my leg to get a better whiff. “Dudes, I’d totally share but I don’t think chili powder is your thing.” The spicy scent coming off the corn was all they needed. The both dropped back onto all fours and trotted away.