by Liz Isaacson
“Bingo,” he muttered to himself, yanking open the door. “I have to go talk to someone,” he told his daughter. He stuck the key in the ignition and turned on the truck. “Heat it up for us, okay, baby?”
He closed the door without waiting for her to confirm. Libby was trailing two cowboys—Bennett and Sawyer, and Cal almost went right back to his truck. He’d already asked them both about the monarch butterfly, and he didn’t want them to think he was still hung up on her.
But Cal was still hung up on her.
And so he renewed the purpose in his stride and called, “Libby?” while she was still several paces behind the other boys.
She turned toward him, and he lifted his hand in hello so she’d know he was the one who’d called. Her face scrunched up for a quick beat and then she smoothed over the confusion with an astronomical smile. “Cal Hodgkins.” She swayed her hips as she stepped off the curb and joined him in the parking lot.
“Hey,” he said, a bit breathless. “Listen, Trina said you went to the Halloween dance?”
“Yeah, but—”
Cal spoke over her, anxious to get this conversation done. “Did you see a woman there dressed like a monarch butterfly?” He watched her reaction carefully.
She blinked at him once, twice, three times. “I—don’t know.”
Exasperation bled through him. “She was wearing all black. Dark hair, bright orange wings.” If Libby hadn’t seen her, Cal couldn’t be sure the butterfly even existed. Libby Larsen knew everyone in town, everything they did, even what kind of car they drove.
“Maybe,” Libby said, growing more confused by the moment. “Why?”
“I….” Cal reconsidered his tactics. If he told her, it was possible the whole town would know by dinnertime. But if that meant he could find the butterfly…. “I danced with her,” he said. “And I didn’t get her name or number. I’m trying to find out who she was.”
A light entered Libby’s eyes. “Ooh, a mystery girl.”
Cal groaned inwardly. “I suppose. Did you see her?”
“Yes, I saw her,” Libby said.
Relief made Cal exhale his breath into a chuckle. “Do you know who she is?”
Libby looked over her shoulder to see if there was anyone lingering too close. Most of the patrons had already gone, and the near-winter wind whipped the early leaves that had fallen along the cement.
“I can find out,” she said in a conspiring whisper. “Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll call you when I find her.” She held out her phone, a glint in her eyes Cal wasn’t sure about.
He stared at the phone, indecision raging within him. In the end, he wanted to know who the butterfly was, and if the toll was his number in Libby Larsen’s phone, he’d pay it.
“So you’ll listen to Trina and do whatever she says,” Brynn told Sabrina the following morning. “She’s going to be feeding the outside herd today, so you can tag along with her.”
Cal smiled down at his daughter, then flashed a grateful look in Brynn’s direction before settling his gaze on Trina. Her lips shone in the morning light, not with color but she’d still put something shiny on them.
He pulled his eyes from her mouth, giving himself a little shake. His blood ran a little hotter and warmth crawled up his neck when she didn’t look away from him either.
They’d shared a few lunches together, and he liked talking to her. But he’d been so wrapped up in the butterfly, he—
He coughed as a horrifying thought entered his mind. Had he been so wrapped up in that blasted cowgirl boot on his mantel that he’d missed a perfectly wonderful woman standing right in front of him?
“Come on, then,” Trina said, almost like a real Texas cowgirl. She extended her hand toward Sabrina, and Cal saw his daughter’s hesitation.
“You go on.” He crouched low in front of her, placing himself between Sabrina and Trina. “She’ll bring you on back to the cabin when it’s time for lunch, and I promised I’d make your favorite, remember?”
Sabrina’s hesitation ebbed away beneath her smile. “All right.” She threw her arms around Cal and he hung on, his heart melting at the tiny touch from a tiny human.
“All right,” he repeated as she stepped back and he stood up. He nodded toward Trina, and Sabrina latched their hands together.
Cal purposely kept his eyes on the ground, his emotion over having Sabrina on the ranch with him so overwhelming. Brynn patted his bicep and walked away, and Cal gathered up his courage to look at Trina.
Attraction and desire glittered in her eyes the way the sun danced on water. Cal stared right back, the draw between them that had been there since the first moment he’d met her in the lobby of Bowman’s Breeds.
For some reason, he wondered if that was the first time they’d really met.
She ducked her head and tucked her too-short hair behind her ear. “Let’s go, Sabrina.” She went down the aisle, letting Sabrina skip ahead of her.
Cal turned away, his chest laboring to hold a decent breath for longer than a moment.
“So you like her, huh?” Brynn said, sidling up to Cal.
“What? No.” Cal pressed his hat further onto his head. “Well, I’m over at the ranch today. Text me if you need me.”
He started to walk away when Brynn called, “You have to check on Grand Junction and Honeybee.”
“Yeah, of course.”
He detoured around the bend in the U and went down to the very end, where the two healing horses had been bunking together. Grand Junction greeted him at the door, hardly a limp in his movement at all.
They were healing well, and Cal jotted a few notes on their care sheets so Brynn would know to keep giving them the medicine and exercising them with care. Then he got the heck out of there before he went in search of Trina and demanded to know if she was the monarch butterfly he’d danced with.
He hadn’t brought up the boot again, hadn’t asked her if she’d gone to the dance again, hadn’t perpetuated the conversation about Libby. She’d had a panic attack last time he’d asked, and he didn’t need a repeat of that.
The week went quickly, with only silence on his phone. Libby didn’t call. She didn’t text. Cal didn’t have her number, and he didn’t want to come off as desperate. But as the week ended, and another one started, the taste of need filled his mouth.
He needed to know who the butterfly was. Needed to see her again. Talk to her. And in his fantasies, he kissed her.
Cal felt like he’d lost his mind. He didn’t fantasize about women. At least he hadn’t in years. He worked with horses, was content, and spoiled his daughter on the weekends.
When he dropped her off at Petra’s on Sunday night, Cal asked, “Can I take her to my brother’s for Thanksgiving? She wants to see if he still has that German shepherd that can give high five.”
“We have a big event here at the restaurant,” Petra said, standing in the doorway and not allowing him entrance. He didn’t need to go inside to know what it looked like. The stench of new upholstery wafted out to him, and he wondered how much she’d spent replacing items that didn’t need to be replaced this time.
Her shopaholic tendencies were more of a hoarding sickness, despite what she claimed, and she’d bankrupted Cal before filing for divorce and moving back to the apartment behind the restaurant her parents owned.
Cal had been forced to sell everything he had to pay the credit card bills, all the foolishness in the world landing on his shoulders. He’d left his life in Hill Country behind and followed Petra north to the Texas Panhandle.
He’d managed to get a job at Three Rivers Ranch, only an hour from the restaurant, and the dissolution of their marriage had been taken care of swiftly.
Sometimes a blip of sadness stole through him, but most of the time, he knew he was better off without her. He wasn’t sure if she felt the same, but she seemed to be able to go to work and take care of herself and Sabrina.
His daughter showed up with clean clothes and hair, and Pe
tra’s hoarding didn’t extend to garbage or expired food. Cal was thankful for that, and he prayed for his daughter’s safety and well-being constantly.
“Maybe she can miss the event for a year,” Cal said coolly. “Just think, she won’t be underfoot while you’re baking.”
Petra looked as if she never got outside, with skin as pale as onion skins. A flicker of the woman he’d met at a rodeo event in Idaho emerged, and he grinned.
“I think she’d like to go to Austin,” Petra said, brushing back her blonde hair.
Cal gave her his best smile, and the corners of Petra’s mouth twitched upward. For a moment, he saw the family they’d been and the family they could’ve been if not for her mental illnesses and her refusal to address them.
“Bye, Daddy.” Sabrina wrapped her arms around Cal’s waist and hugged him tight. He patted her back and bent down when she backed up.
“You gonna be sleepin’ good tonight, baby?” he asked.
She put both hands on the sides of his face and peered right into his eyes. Eyes so like his that his heart twisted and ached. “I’ll be sleepin’ fine, Daddy.”
He nodded once, wishing with everything inside him that his life were different. That he didn’t have to leave her here. He felt like this every weekend, and he knew what it took to tear himself away from Sabrina, make the lonely walk down the dirt driveway to his truck, and get himself back to the ranch that had saved him.
So he did exactly that, sure in the knowledge that if Sabrina was scared, or uncomfortable, or worried, or anything, she’d have said she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep that night.
It was a game he’d invented since the day she could talk, one he’d wanted to establish so she could let him know discreetly if something wasn’t right at her mother’s house.
He returned to his cabin. His clean, nothing out of place, minimalist cabin, wondering if Sabrina felt as out of place here as he did in Petra’s mess.
Someone knocked on the door before Cal could even kick off his boots. He knew it would be the matron of the ranch before he even opened the door. Sure enough, Squire’s honey-blonde wife stood on the front porch.
“Come on over for dinner, Cal,” she said, smiling as she folded her arms and cocked her hip. “I have those ridged potato chips you like, and Pete is making his guacamole as we speak.”
Cal leaned against the door, unsure about if he wanted to go over to the homestead and be with people. People with families, the way he used to be. But he also knew he’d go, because he couldn’t pass up Pete’s homemade guac.
Kelly gave him a look that said she knew his weaknesses and she’d expressly exploited them. She grinned and nodded toward the boot sitting on the mantel. “What’s that?”
Cal straightened and settled against the other side of the doorframe to block the offending object. “Nothing.”
Kelly narrowed her eyes, her mind definitely sparking, questions piling up. She turned without saying anything more until she reached the gravel path at the bottom of his steps. “I’ll ask Squire.”
Cal launched himself out of the cabin. “Don’t do that, Miss Kelly.”
“Then you better tell me yourself.”
“Why? So you can tell Squire?”
“Either way, we’re going to find out.”
Cal sighed, because she was right. And maybe he could get some help on his side and finally figure out who his mysterious monarch butterfly was.
Chapter Six
“I have to quit.” Trina paced in the apartment while Libby simply continued to paint her fingernails an unsavory shade of yellow.
“I mean, I have to quit.” She threw her arms up in the air. She’d spent a week with Cal’s daughter for a shadow, and Sabrina was a cute little girl, quiet like her father, and an absolute delight to waste hours with.
Trina had never given much thought to having children. Tennis always came first. Always. Until she didn’t want it to anymore, and then Carlos had insisted.
Why hadn’t he just let her quit while she was on top? That was all she’d ever wanted, and he’d taken it from her—and then found another brunette to kiss while she was still getting up at five o’clock in the morning and hitting balls when she wanted to sleep in and start a life beyond tennis.
Her emotion surged to the top of her head, clouding her thoughts, and she glanced up as if seeking divine help, a sob wrenching through her throat.
“You don’t have to quit,” Libby said in a monotone voice, the same way she had at least half a dozen times before.
Trina swallowed her feelings, tried to stuff them way down deep where no one would see them, or hear them. “You said you’d find out who the monarch butterfly was.”
She glanced up, her hazel eyes sparking. “I did.” A wicked smile curved her lips.
“You can’t tell him.”
“I’ve sworn up and down that I won’t. We pinky-promised.”
“Has he called you?”
“In the thirty minutes since you asked last?” Libby made a big show of checking her phone. “Nope. No calls from Cal Hodgkins.” She went back to painting her nails. “I don’t know why you just don’t tell him who you are. It’s obvious you like him.”
Trina did like him—and that was the problem. She couldn’t go getting involved with a man. And not just any man. A cowboy with a child.
She shook her head, wondering how one dance had led her to this mess. What would he think when she never wanted to go home for holidays? How could she possibly ever take him back to her house in the hills?
It’s not a house, she chastised herself. It’s a freaking mansion, with an entire room for your trophies and cups and plates….
She sighed and sank into a chair across from Libby. “Sorry,” she said as she jostled the table and Libby threw her a dirty look.
“Tell me why I don’t have to quit.” Everything in Trina was urging her to run, and run fast. Far. Turn her back on Three Rivers and find some other small town to live in.
But this was the fourth place she’d tried, and she was starting to learn that no matter where she went, she’d still be Katrina Salisbury, former number one women’s tennis player in the world, who had a public break-up with her boyfriend-slash-trainer and disappeared.
Maybe it was time to face who she was. Stay, and figure out how to be who she wanted to be going forward.
She put her head in her hands. She’d faced down formidable opponents before. Competitors who made her nervous, who hit the ball so hard she couldn’t get to it on the court.
But she wasn’t that person anymore. Maybe it was time to find a new version of herself. A newer, better version of herself.
“You don’t have to quit, because he likes you. He wants to find you.” She capped the nail polish and blew on her nails. “You should march into his cabin tomorrow morning and say, ‘That’s my boot. I danced with you. I loooove you.’” She giggled and Trina rolled her eyes.
“I’ve known the man for two weeks.”
“Sometimes you know when you first set eyes on someone,” she said.
Trina didn’t believe in love at first sight. Never had. Didn’t really have a lot of romantic bones in her body, unless she wanted to count her lifelong love affair with tennis.
She sighed and closed her eyes, the moment she’d met Cal playing through her mind. So she’d been abnormally attracted to him, drawn physically across the dance floor until she stood chest to chest with him.
Something had sizzled and crackled between them during the four-minute dance they’d shared, and—
“I’m afraid,” she whispered, realizing why she’d run from him that night on the dance floor. She didn’t want him to know who she was, and fear had gripped her. Gripped her hard enough to induce her flight response.
“What?” Libby switched her attention from her nails to Trina.
“I have to tell you something.” Trina’s heart wailed, trembled, flopped in her chest. “How familiar with women’s tennis are you?”
“Women’s tennis?”
With that comment, Trina knew Three Rivers was the perfect place for her to build a life outside of tennis. Knew she didn’t want to leave simply because she was afraid.
“Open up your laptop,” she said. “I’ll show you.”
Libby complied, and Trina Googled herself, getting pages and pages of pictures and articles in less than half a second. She wanted to delete them all.
No, you don’t, she told herself. And she didn’t. Not really. What she’d wanted—to leave tennis on her terms—had been taken from her.
Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, she turned the computer back to Libby. “That’s me.”
Libby stared at the screen, her eyes wide and curious. “Professional tennis…number one in the world….” She looked up, surprise and shock in her expression. “You were number one in the world?”
“For sixty-four consecutive months.” Trina ran her hands through her short locks, hating them. She hated the color too. It looked so yellow to her, nowhere near a natural blonde.
“I don’t—ohhh.”
So she’d found the pictures of Carlos. Carlos and Trina. Then Carlos and Amara. Then Carlos and Giselle.
“No wonder you paid six month’s rent up front.” Libby wore the same look in her eye that everyone did once they figured out she had money. A lot of money.
Libby returned to the computer to get some more juicy gossip. “This was months ago,” she said after only a few seconds. She leaned away from the laptop. “And you’ve only been in town for a few weeks.” She didn’t wear any judgment in her face, and when she asked, “Where have you been?” it wasn’t with any ill intentions.
“Bouncing around,” Trina said. She laid her head back in her arms. “And I’m tired. I just want to stay here.”
“Oh my stars. You were just thinking about running again,” Libby said. “Weren’t you?”
Trina nodded, her chin wobbling as her emotion got the better of her. She steeled her nerves and buried her feelings, the way she’d been doing since the day she picked up a tennis racquet.