THE BEST MAN IN TEXAS

by Kristine Rolofson

  "Marry you," she repeated, looking at him with huge eyes. "Just like that?"

  "If that's too fast, then move in with me. Leave July and don't look back. We'll live together and plan the rest of our lives. We'll drive out of here the way we'd planned."

  "You make it sound so simple."

  "It is. You need a place to live," Joe said, teasing her with his lips on hers. "Why not with me?"

  She shook her head. "I can't marry you because I need a place to live."

  "Sure you can." He grinned. "Unless you plan to move home with your mother."

  "Ouch."

  "Sleep on it." He kissed her. "And then say yes."

  * * *

  Delia said no. She'd thought there would be no way she could sleep after losing her home and getting a marriage proposal, but she'd finally napped in Joe's bed when everything became too overwhelming to think about.

  And then, hours later, she'd said no, because she was scared of making another mistake. No, because she didn't want him to regret such an impulsive proposal. And no, because she didn't want to use marriage as an easy way out.

  Delia was unprepared for the hurt that flashed across Joe's face.

  "Can I ask why?"

  "It's not you," she said. "It's me."

  "Right." His hands gripped the steering wheel of her car, parked in along the street in front of her mother's imposing home. He looked straight ahead, as if something down the street was so interesting he couldn't tear his gaze away. "You want to explain that?"

  "I've only been divorced a few months," she began, wondering how to make him understand. "I need more time—"

  "Yeah," he said. "You want to walk on the wild side a while longer, I guess. Take home a few more men, dance in a few more bars, drink a few more frozen daiquiris?"

  "That's not it and you know it."

  He turned to look at her again. "You were in a dead-end marriage for years. How much more time do you want to waste?"

  "I want to see if I can survive on my own."

  "We can all survive on our own," Joe said. "The question is, why would we want to?"

  "I don't want people feeling sorry for me."

  "Too late, sweetheart. Your husband left you and your trailer just burned down. Folks are revvin' up major sympathy as we speak."

  Well, that was blunt. And true. The temptation to run to Joe's ranch in Austin grew stronger, but Delia was determined. Her only attempt at independence had resulted in a fire, so obviously she had a ways to go before becoming self-sufficient. "I'm not going to visit you," she added. "Not yet. Not until I'm sure."

  He swore. And kissed her goodbye.

  Then, looking more resigned than irritated, he said, "I hope you do whatever it is you need to do, Delia. I've waited since I was sixteen, but I'm not going to wait forever."

  He left her there. He slid out of the car, refused her offer to drive him to the school to retrieve his truck from the parking lot, and headed down the street. He didn't look back, not that Delia expected him to. And as she unloaded her meager possessions from the back seat of her car, she told herself that this was all for the best.

  But she suspected this was going to be a very long summer.

  * * *

  Poor Delia, folks said while eating their eggs and bacon at the Yellow Rose Diner Saturday morning. That girl had some bad luck, all right, but that old trailer of her uncle's wasn't worth much. At least Delia could live with her mother now.

  How sad about Delia, neighbors said to Betty Brown when they came to play cards. Such a shame to have lost her company in Pecan Hollow and had Betty's son heard from her? After all, they made such a nice couple together.

  Poor Delia, Lily May said as she curled Georgia's hair two weeks later. Hard to believe she took up with J.C. Brown, who dumped her right after the fire. That girl has the worst luck with men, the hairdresser pointed out. And why on earth was Delia living in rooms above the Sew Good craft shop on Main Street

  ?

  Georgia sniffed, resisting a retort that would give Lily May something to gossip about for the rest of the summer. "She's working there, of course," she found the patience to say. "She gives lessons in beading—my Delia's quite the artist, you know—and she runs the place for Ethel, who wants to retire and spend more time with her grandchildren."

  "A bead artist?" Lily May frowned into the mirror as if she'd never heard of such a thing. "That sounds awful strange."

  Georgia announced that Delia's last Victorian-style purse had sold for an enormous sum, the "price of a new truck", she said. A downright lie, but worth the telling if only to make the hairdresser shut her mouth.

  "My, my, who knew," Lily May clucked. "Maybe she can afford to buy herself a nice house now that Martin sold that big one they had."

  "I don't know what she's going to do next," Georgia said, and that was the truth. She told Annie the same thing later, when they met at the café for lunch. "She's not happy, Annie."

  "She misses that man, of course," Annie whispered. "You know who."

  "I know. I thought the money Martin finally gave her would cheer her up, but other than taking some of her money worries away, it didn't seem to make much difference." They ordered chicken salad plates and iced tea before Georgia continued. "I wonder what happened. Here I had my hopes up and everything, but Delia won't say anything except that he went back to Austin."

  "Betty might know. Call her and ask."

  "I can't just call her and ask why her son left my daughter."

  "But I can."

  She watched as Annie pulled a tiny cell phone out of her quilted tote bag. "When did you get that?"

  "The kids gave it to me. For emergencies.

  "Well, if this isn't one I don't know what is."

  "Darn right," Annie said. "Go ask Greta for a phone book and we'll be in business."

  * * *

  "Surprise!"

  Delia looked up from unpacking a box of knitting pattern books and saw her mother entering the store. It had been a long, quiet day, with only five minutes left until closing, so she was ridiculously happy to see her. Georgia waved some papers in her hand and smiled.

  "Hi, Mother. What are you so excited about?"

  "You'll be excited, too, when I tell you." Georgia hurried over to the counter and plopped a glossy brochure on top of instructions on how to knit a sweater for a dog. "Remember that trip we talked about a few months ago, right after you moved into Gin's trailer?"

  "Vaguely." She'd been too consumed with lust for Joe Brown at the time to pay much attention. "Maybe you'd better remind me."

  "The cruise," her mother explained, pointing to a photograph of a large white ship plowing through blue water. "We sail out of Galveston and on to Mexico and all those wonderful ruins."

  "I can't go on a cruise," she said, waving her arm around the cluttered shelves of the craft store. "Ethel depends on me."

  "I already talked to her and she gave you the twelve days off as a special favor to me." Georgia's cheeks were pink with excitement. "Isn't that wonderful?"

  "Um." Wonderful would not be the word she would choose to describe going on a cruise for twelve days with her mother. With Joe? She'd swim to the ship. But he hadn't called her since he left and that had been two months and twelve days ago. He would have started school by now. He'd be teaching those young, gorgeous tanned women—

  "Annie's going, too, of course." Now her mother pulled something else out of her purse. "Ta-da! Here are the reservations and information we need. One night is very elegant, so we have to dress up. We'll go shopping together on your next day off."

  "Mother, I don't know what to say." Surely going on a cruise with her mother and her mother's best friend shouldn't rank up there on the scale of misery with a divorce and a house fire, but Delia felt a familiar knot of misery in her stomach. The same knot that tightened its grip every time she thought of Joe and wondered what he was doing. If he missed her. If he thought about coming back to July and making love with her all night l
ong.

  "You don't have to say anything, Delia." The papers returned to her handbag. "Just be ready to go in two weeks from Saturday."

  "But—"

  "Oh, this will be the first of many trips we'll take now that you're single and carefree. We'll have lots of fun together, I just know it. You'll see that the divorce was a good thing, and so was ending that thing you had going on with the Brown boy. Oh, he was a handsome thing, but as you get older you'll realize that all that physical business is vastly overrated."

  Delia opened her mouth to say something—anything—but no words came out.

  Georgia pushed the brochure toward her. "Keep it to look at tonight when you're upstairs having dinner. That's what Annie and I do." She left as quickly as she entered, the bell on the door tinkling as she shut it behind her. Delia hurried over to lock the door, hang the Closed sign and draw the shades.

  She had news to share, too, but the person she wanted to share it with was in Austin. Talking to beautiful coeds. All she had right now were two guitars, five binders of really sad songs, a reservation on a cruise ship and a letter from a music publisher.

  Somewhere, somehow, her life had gone terribly wrong. My Life Has Gone Terribly Wrong. Sounded like one of Uncle Gin's song titles.

  * * *

  J.C. cursed the heat, the traffic and the meeting that led to his leaving his air-conditioned office and negotiating the heavy Friday afternoon traffic downtown. His temper had grown increasingly short, his patience deteriorating as the weeks without Delia wore on.

  He'd kept busy He'd assured himself that he'd change her mind. He'd told himself he'd give her until Thanksgiving. Halloween, maybe, if he got desperate. He could last another five or six weeks without going crazy.

  Maybe.

  He parked in a garage near Sixth Street

  , the music hub of Texas, if not the world. And he wondered for the hundredth time why he had to meet Julie in the first place. She could have talked to him on the phone. Or in his office. Or even out at the ranch. But no, leave it to her to be mysterious and demanding. He walked the four blocks to The Blue Door and stepped inside. The place, dark and cool, was nearly empty except for a handful of college kids at a table by the front door and a couple of old men on bar stools. The band was setting up on a stage in the corner.

  He was early and, now that he was here, he didn't mind waiting. He ordered a beer and sat down at the far end of the bar to take his time drinking it.

  He heard a woman order a strawberry daiquiri and the memory made him smile despite his aggravation.

  "I know you," the woman said, perching on the stool next to him. "From high school." The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he turned to see Delia sitting beside him. She wore a white sundress that bared her shoulders, emphasized her cleavage and showed off her legs. It was a dress meant to drive him crazy, he realized, and it was working.

  "Yeah?" He couldn't hide his smile.

  "I let you copy the answers off my math paper."

  "And I appreciated it." She wasn't the only one who remembered how they'd met at the Cottonwood. The bartender set the drink in front of her and Joe paid for it before she could pull her wallet from her purse. "Julie set me up, didn't she."

  "She owed me a favor."

  "Yeah." He took a swallow of beer and tried not to get his hopes up too high. "This is a real nice surprise and all, but are you going to tell me what are you doing here?"

  "I had business in Austin," she said, which was not the answer he wanted to hear. "Successful business with a music publisher who's interested in old country songs like Uncle Gin's." She smiled wide enough to light up the room. "Those songs we saved from the fire could turn out to be worth a small fortune. He's already made me an offer and I'm going to get an agent before I accept it."

  "Congratulations." And he meant it, too. But he didn't want her to be here, with him, just because she'd had to be in Austin on business.

  "Quit frowning. I came here to see you, too."

  "Are you going to get drunk like last time we were in a bar together?"

  "No." She smiled at him. "But I've missed you so much that I'll still let you take me home."

  "Home?"

  "To your place. If I'm still invited."

  "I guess that depends on how long you're staying." He fought to keep from pulling her into his arms, but it wasn't easy.

  "I guess that depends on how long I'm invited to stay."

  "Oh, you can stay as long as you want," he told her. "Getting married would, of course, be my first option, but I'm more open-minded now, looking at you in that dress. I'd even be happy for a couple of hours of your time."

  "Is that a proposal?" He swore she looked as if she was about to cry.

  "Yeah," he admitted. "But I've been so damn miserable that I'll admit that I'll take what I can get."

  "'Being alone is vastly overrated,'" Delia agreed. "I'm quoting my mother now, but she's right."

  He nodded solemnly. "You must be losing your mind."

  "And my heart, too," she said. "Losing my mind, losing my heart, all because of losing you."

  Joe laughed. "Uncle Gin?"

  "His next greatest hit. You know," she whispered, leaning closer so he got a good look at the tops of her breasts. "This is the most amazing piece of clothing. When I untie the straps at the nape of my neck, the whole dress just peels right off."

  Joe couldn't take any more. He slid off the bar stool, took her hand and her outside into the bright sun. Parked in front of the bar was Delia's white Cadillac. And hitched to Delia's white Cadillac was an older-model Silverstream trailer.

  "Like it? I bought it with the money I got when the house sold. It's my workshop," she proudly announced. "What do you think?"

  "You goin' somewhere, sweetheart?"

  She looped her arms around his waist, causing more than a few tourists to stare. "Out to your place, of course. I thought I'd park it at your place—"

  "Our place," he corrected, which made her smile again.

  "And use it as my studio. I've registered for art classes next semester." She put her nose against his shirt and inhaled. "I love the way you smell."

  "Would you like to have wild and crazy sex with me?"

  "That was my line," Delia protested, looking up to laugh. Joe paused a second before he kissed her.

  "And," he promised, "it will be a cold day in July before I turn down an offer like that from you again."

  * * *

  Epilogue

  «^

  "Listen to this," Georgia said, holding the July Times in front of her. Annie leaned closer. "'The wedding of Delia Ball Drummond, daughter of Mrs. Georgia Ball and the late Richard Ball, to Mr. Joseph Carter Brown, son of Mrs. Elizabeth Brown, took place Saturday, July fourth, on the groom's ranch in Austin.'"

  "It was a lovely wedding," Annie agreed, taking tissues from her purse because she knew that her best friend was going to get weepy again. Just mention the word "wedding" and Georgia turned into a fountain. "Everyone said so. And Joe's sister was so sweet. Not at all like I'd pictured her."

  "She's cleaned up her act, learned how to knit and quit drinking. I think Delia was a good influence. She got her a job at Sew Good, remember." She looked down at the newspaper again. "'The happy couple will reside on their ranch in Austin after a honeymoon in San Antonio.'" Georgia set the paper on the counter and looked around the Yellow Rose as if waiting for congratulations. Two women waved and the waitress ignored them. "I offered to give them a cruise, but they said no."

  "Speaking of cruises," Annie began. "Did you ever tell her?"

  Georgia chuckled. "That I never booked her on a cruise with us? Of course not, though I sure would like to take credit for pushing her back into Joe's arms."

  "Betty had a lovely time, even if she couldn't climb the steps to the top of that pyramid in Xtapa. But she took some good pictures of us waving from the top."

  "I'd like to see Martin's face when he reads about the wedding. He's stuck i
n that condo of his with his son—did I tell you Karl's pregnant girlfriend is living there, too?" Annie nodded. She'd heard all about the stepson who couldn't find a job and had come home to July to live off his father. "And Jen is home, too," Georgia continued, "because the little snob flunked out of school. Martin has a houseful."

  Annie watched her friend's face dissolve into tears. "Georgia, what's the matter?"

  "Oh, Annie, I'm so happy." She took the tissue and wiped her eyes. "You were right all along, you know."

  "About what?"

  "That Delia's still young enough to give me grandchildren." She sighed and another round of tears creased her cheeks.

  "So J.C. Brown turned out to be a pretty decent man after all," Annie pointed out, tickled that Georgia would have her own baby pictures to show at future card games.

  "Joe," Georgia corrected. "His name is Joe."

  The End