by Laura Drake
“Yeah.” He keeps his gaze between his horse’s ears.
We continue in awkward silence until I pull to a stop at a place in the fence where the wire’s bent over and trampled down. “Goddamn bulls are assholes.”
Troy stops his horse and leans his forearms on the horn. “Nah. Just horny.”
I step down and untie the wire from the saddle. “What, you gonna sit and watch?” I pull the leather gloves from my back pocket.
He puts out his hands, palms out. “No gloves.”
“Pussy.” I reach into the saddlebag and toss him a pair.
“I didn’t come out here to be a hired hand.”
“You’d rather leave it for Dad to do?”
That gets him moving. In no time, his new boots are grass-stained and we’re both sweating.
“Here, hold this.” I hand him the one side of broken wire, while I lock the crimper on the other piece. “Why are you out here, anyway? Why aren’t you in Albuquerque?”
“Why are you baching it in the homestead house?” He hands over the wire.
The stretcher clicks, pulling the wire taut. “It’s easier if you use the pliers, instead of your hands to make a loop.”
“You always were a girl. Shit!” I pull off the glove and suck the puncture in my thumb.
“Told you.”
“Yeah, you always were a know-it-all, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I put the glove back on and give the wire another twist. “Why are you telling Dad it’s not smart to run some bucking stock?”
“Because it’s not.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s what I do for a living, Austin. It’s not a smart business move.” He grunts, and pulls the stretcher one more click.
One click too far. Barbed wire whistles past my ear, and the stretcher falls on my knuckles. “Son of a bitch!” I shake my hand and sit back on my heels. I pull the glove, and touch my earlobe. My fingers come away bloody. “You trying to take me out?”
“Serves you right.” His growl comes from between clenched teeth.
“Why the hell are you mad? I’m the injured party here.”
He throws his hands up. “If I’d wanted to be a cowboy, I wouldn’t have gone to college. I don’t belong here, damn it.”
“Oh, I see, as always, you’re the smart one, and I’m a grunt for using my hands to actually work for a living.”
“It’s always about Austin, isn’t it? The whole world doesn’t revolve around you and your rodeo-star life. I was talking about me.” He steps to his horse and retrieves the reins. “See you later, little brother. I’ve got real work to do.” He mounts and lopes off.
Forgetting my glove, I grab the stretcher and a barb digs the length of my forearm. Goddamn city boy. I yell after him, “You’re not good at that job, either.”
* * *
Carly
I’m on refill patrol Wednesday morning when Austin comes through the door. He’s limping, his clothes are wrinkled, and his face is set in the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. He looks like a train wreck. That magnetic pull tugs, and my heart pumps sympathy. I set the pitcher of coffee on the table so as not to drop it.
The breakfast crowd goes silent, like there’s going to be a shootout or something.
“Carly.” He takes off his hat and holds it at his side. “Could I talk to you for a second?” He looks around, meeting the stare of every mother’s son in the place—the daughters, too. “Alone?”
When that last word wobbles just a bit, I know what it took him to walk through that door.
“Of course.” I pat the high-schooler closest to me on the shoulder. “Patsy, make the rounds for me, will you? I’ll just be a minute.”
Eyes big, she nods and stands.
I tip my chin to the door. He follows me and opens it. Dang railway station is just a big glass fishbowl, with windows all around. The diners even look like goldfish, with their eyes bugging and their mouths opening and closing with gossip. I keep walking, but not too far. I don’t want people to think…whatever they’re going to think. I duck down the alley past the dime store, turn, and wait to hear what was important enough for Austin to run the breakfast crowd gauntlet.
“I wanted to let you know, I’m home for good. Well, not home, exactly. I’m staying at the homestead house. I’ll be fixing it up while I settle in, working for Dad and looking around for some good cows to have inseminated, and…” His blush shoots up from the collar of his shirt.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to blurt. I guess I’m kinda weirded out about all this.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I am telling you.” Our old joke brings only a weak smile to his lips. “Look, the way I figure it, the only way for people to stop staring when we’re in the same room together is if we’re okay being in the same room together. Eventually, they’ll move on to juicier gossip.”
My hand steals to cover my apron-covered pooch. “Yeah, I’ve got an idea about what that’ll be.”
His blush gets a mottled red tinge. “Aw, hell, Carly. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”
“Stop it. Now you’re making me nervous.” I take his arm and shake it. When his rock-hard bicep jumps under my hand, I drop it. “We’ve been friends since we were getting sand in our diapers. Surely we can get past this…awkward stage.”
We look at each other, separated by a wall of words that we can’t say. “We’ll act normal, and someday, it’ll be normal.” My brain whispers a bad word about cattle by-products. I ignore it, and extend my hand.
He steps in and gives me an awkward man-hug, complete with patting my back. Air rushes out of him in a huge sigh. “Oh, good. Because I really don’t want to eat grease down at the Lunch Box.”
“Why didn’t you go to your mom’s?”
“I’m a little old to be parking my boots under Mom’s table every meal.” He lowers his head to watch his fingers work the brim of his hat. “Discovered I’m too old for a lot of things, lately.”
It sounds like I’m not the only one doing some deep soul-excavation lately. I knew he had come off the road, of course. Gossips were more than happy to impart that juicy tidbit.
Isn’t it funny how the mind works? It shields you from the hardest lessons, giving you time to get ready for the truth’s ultimate blow. Looking back, I can see that pushing him to come home all these years, and our eventual breakup, was me, testing a theory my brain hadn’t fully let me in on yet.
That what he wanted would always come first. And I followed along, because that’s what I always do. I hoped he loved me, like I love him. Even now, I can’t hate him for it—he isn’t withholding it from me—he’s just incapable of that kind of love. But now that I know the difference, I realize I’m not willing to settle for anything less than the all-out, love-you-down-to-the-nasty-parts, kind. I push my lips into what I hope is a smile, but probably isn’t. “I’m happy for you, Austin, truly. I hope you’re a huge success.”
He glances around. “Well, prob’ly be best if we walk in together, huh?”
I act like I don’t see his arm hanging out, waiting for me to take it. One thing to wish him well—another to take a step down a dead-end road that I’ve been down before. There’re enough mistakes to be made, without going back and making the same ones over again. I’m going to be a parent. I need to be responsible.
I won’t have much face to save soon, anyway. I follow him out of the alley.
We walk into the diner. Austin heads for a seat at the counter, and I snag the coffee pot from Patsy.
The room is in freeze-frame—no kidding—forks have stopped halfway to open mouths. “Just so you know? Austin and I may inhabit the same room, breathe the same oxygen, maybe even—ohmygod—exchange a pleasantry now and again. Y’all are going to have to get over yourselves.”
It’s quiet enough that I can hear Fish chuckle in the kitchen.
I put a hand on my hip. “People, deal.” My
words bounce off the windows.
Tentative conversations start up, and I nod to Austin and resume refill patrol.
It’d be humorous if I didn’t know the next boom to hit. Our breakup is a firecracker compared to the Surface-to-Air Missile of my not-Austin’s baby. How long can I keep the secret? Three weeks? Surely not much more than a month. I’m going to have to figure out how to handle that.
I steal a glance over at the bar. He needs a haircut. I used to love trimming it: running my fingers through the clean, wet strands. There’s just something so personal about that. So sexy. Stop it, Carly.
Guess he’ll have to head down to the Pit Stop Barbershop from now on.
Chapter 17
Carly
Carly Beauchamp, you little brat, you’ve been home for three weeks. When were you going to call me?” My best friend, Jess, stands in the middle of the aisle of O’Grady’s, one hand on her cart handle, the other on her hip. I know every shade of her expressions, and the wrinkles in her seashell-pink lipstick tell me she’s put out.
One more thing to feel guilty about; I’ve been avoiding her. And my whole high school posse. “Dang, Jess, you’re in maternity tops already?” I stop my cart beside her.
She’s wearing leggings, a blousy top, and blingy sandals. “Don’t you change the subject.” She points a dragon-red nail at me. “You owe me all the poop, and you’re going to give it, right now.”
“Jeez, Jess, right here in the aisle?”
“Ha, ha. I’m serious.” She gives my basket a stern look. “You got ice cream in there?”
“No, but—”
“Then follow me.” She marches down the aisle, heading for the deli section, where there are tables for those wanting a quick sandwich.
“Make mine iced tea, will you?”
“No coffee?” She arches a threaded brow. “I think I just felt the earth move. If you’d have asked for decaf, I’d be really worried.”
I thought about calling Jess, more than once. But something held me back. When she fishes money from her wallet, her wedding ring flashes in the lights, and I suddenly understand why. She and I have more in common than she knows, but instead of feeling closer, I feel like there’s a wall ten feet high between us, tagged all over with “unmarried” in spray paint.
I park my basket beside a table, then go back for hers. By the time I sit, she’s there with drinks. She slides in the other side and squints at me. “You look different. What’s going on?”
My stomach clenches. I may not have been sure before, but I know now, down to the ground—I’m not telling her about the baby. It’s not that I worry she’d tell; she wouldn’t. Not on purpose, anyway. It’s not that I’d think she’d judge; she wouldn’t.
It’s that Jess is living the life I’d planned. The life we’d all planned, back in high school. I’m now on a different path.
And if I’m having this much of a problem telling Jess, how in happy hell am I going to tell the whole town? There’s something that’s been bothering me like a sticker in my sock, poke-poke-poking me. Maybe this isn’t about what the town will think about me. It’s about what I think of myself. Am I hanging on to the town sweetheart title because I want to go back to the old Carly?
No. Not the bad parts, anyway. I don’t want to be the stereotypical country girl, up on the seat of a cowboy’s truck. I have my own opinions, my own beliefs.
But Austin didn’t force me into that role; he never knew it was a role—because I never told him. I’m going to need to spend some time thinking about that.
But right now, Jess is waiting for an answer. I know when she finds out about the baby, she’ll see my holding back as a betrayal. And, God knows, I could use a friend. I open my mouth to try to push out the words, then close it when I realize the words wouldn’t get through that wall. It just doesn’t feel right. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, Jess. I’ve been running like crazy, trying to catch up at the diner.”
“I hear Austin is coming in for breakfast some days. How weird is that?” She takes a sip of coffee.
“Not too bad, actually. We talked, and decided the town was too small for us not to be in the same room together.” I hold up a hand. “Do. Not. Say. It.” Jess was on team “Austin forever.”
She sets her cup down. “Okay then, I want to hear all about your trip. Every single detail. Was it fun, being on the circuit again? Did you run into Austin there, too? What was it like, riding the motorcycle? Dish, Carly. I’m living vicariously here.”
“Why? Your life looks pretty exciting from where I’m sitting.”
She pats her six-month belly. “Hon, trust me. By your third baby, the excitement has worn off. I just got Caleb out of diapers, and now I get to start all over.” She blows her bangs off her forehead.
“But being married must be great.” I sigh.
She rolls her eyes. “Just more underwear to wash. Don’t get me wrong. I love the man to death. I do. But it’s bad enough picking up after kids all day. If I have to pick up one more wet towel of his, I’m heading for the knife drawer, I swear to God.”
I don’t know what my face looks like, but it makes her laugh. “Carly, that is married life. You have brief flashes of greatness, long stretches of everyday, and the occasional knock-down-drag-out.”
I don’t want to believe that would have happened to Austin and me (my dream Austin—not the real one). Maybe I’ve been unrealistic all these years. But especially now, the grass looks greener on the married side of the fence.
“I’m telling you, Carly, motherhood can drive you to an early grave. The diapers, the whining, the clean-ups. The constant neediness of kids. Do you know I haven’t had a private trip to the bathroom in seven years?”
She leans in, a glint in her eye. “But enough of my boring life. Tell me everything.”
I tell her, embellishing the motorcycling and the fun parts, skipping the Austin-in-the-truck details.
After a half hour, I tell her Nana’s waiting for her groceries and we part, her to the cashier, me back to the shopping. I stop in the cereal aisle, trying to decide between the real Nutty Buddies or the generic.
Jess makes motherhood sound like indentured servitude…and she has a husband to help. Did I make the right decision? What if I get six months into being a mom, and I flat-out can’t handle it? Yeah, there’s Nana and Papaw, but they’re elderly. I can’t expect them to—I freeze. Something’s happened. Something between a twitch and a butterfly brush below my stomach. What the…I put my hand there, but nothing else happens.
My heart fills first, then my eyes.
Is that you, Bean?
My jitters melt away. I don’t care how hard motherhood is. I can’t wait to see my baby. The world settles on its axis, and I know down to my soul that I’ve made the right decision.
You and me, kid.
* * *
Austin
I take one last look around my old bedroom. Sad that it only took two trips to the truck to pull out anything I’ll want at the homestead house. But what’s left hurts too much to have it underfoot: Carly’s Rodeo Queen sash, photos, tickets to the movies, school yearbooks. I look down at the shoebox of winner’s buckles on my bed. I know where they are, if I need them. Better to focus on making a future than to haul around the past. I turn off the light and head out.
A chair squeaks in the office as I pass. Troy is tapping away at a laptop. “All you do is work.”
He leans back in the chair and puts his hands behind his head and stretches. “You sound like my wife. I’ve still got to take care of business.”
“Whatever you say. Where’s Mom and Dad?”
“They went into town.”
He looks pathetic. Sleep-deprived and ragged around the edges. “Can you take a break? I could use some help.”
He frowns. “Does it involve wire stretchers?”
“Are you kidding? I’m not letting you anywhere near a potential weapon. Follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
&nb
sp; I don’t answer until we’re buckled in my truck and up to speed. “To move my stuff out of my apartment in town.”
“Shit. More grunt work.” He leans his arm on the open window. “Now I remember why I left this place. Nothing but grunt work.”
“Just doing my part to turn you into a man, brother.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? If I’m not a hair-on-fire bronc rider, I’ve got no balls?”
“Just saying.”
He reaches over and slaps the back of my head. “Just because some of us were born with a brain bigger than a walnut, isn’t any reason to be jealous.”
I pull onto the town square.
“I do kinda miss this funky town.” He points. “Remember when we got banned from the Civic for putting horny toads under the girl’s seats at the Saturday matinee?”
“It was worth it to see the girls scream.” Carly hadn’t, though. She’d gathered as many as she could, to keep them from getting trampled in the stampede. I take the turn and cruise past the Chestnut Creek Café.
Troy checks it out. “Weird to think that you guys are broken up. So used to seeing you together.”
“Weird on this side, too.” My heart squeezes to a small hard fist. That has to stop happening sometime, doesn’t it?
“You going to start dating someone else?”
I can’t imagine it. “Someday.” I turn right off the square, and down the alley behind the shops. “Here we are.”
Troy eyes the old wooden stairs that lead to the apartment over the store. “You didn’t tell me it was on the second floor.”
I turn off the ignition, turn to him, and wink. “Not bad for a walnut brain, huh?”
We grab empty boxes from the truck bed, and he grumbles all the way up the stairs.
When I open the door, I catch a tiny hint of her perfume, then it’s gone. The big room has always held only the basics: an end table, card table, and chairs. And a bed. The rumpled sheets lay where we kicked them off, the last time we were here. The vise in my chest ratchets down. Wish I could step back in time. I’da done things so different.