Home Is Where Your Boots Are

by Kalan Chapman Lloyd

  I was actually having a good time reminiscing and was bowling fairly well when Jason North silently sat down beside me. I looked over, startled; and then grinned. He grinned back silently. Jason is my former boyfriend’s best friend. They were opposites in a lot of ways. Jason was quiet and didn’t care any about the spotlight, while Cash was loud and obnoxious and always vying for someone’s attention, good or bad. Jason had always been better at sports and smarter. Along with physical gifts and genius, he was also plagued by laziness. Cash, on the other hand, could never sit still and whatever he lacked in natural talent, he made up for with drive.

  Jason was choosy with his words. I both respected and hated it about him. He’d answered me by not defending Cash when I asked if he was cheating on me. Consequently, we had a pretty good bond. I grabbed him in a tight hug before he could have the sense to back away.

  “Jason. Long time; no long silences,” I smiled at him and he grinned his quiet grin back, not answering. I settled next to him and waited.

  “How are you?” he finally asked. This was no casual inquiry. Jason knew full well what had happened to me and how I should be, and he wasn’t fooled by my attempt at a good time. I sighed.

  “Like I need a Krispy Kreme,” I told him honestly. He chuckled softly. Jason was a chuckler.

  “You look like you could afford one,” he glanced down at my body in a very non-sexual way. I tried to work up the effort to get offended and failed. We sat in silence, watching the bowlers. “If you need anything…” he trailed off and I looked up at him, touched and surprised. I knew I could count on him, but we’d never voiced it. I started to answer and was interrupted by Tally asking me if I was ready. I patted Jason’s shoulder and got up, having already stayed two hours longer than I had intended to. I turned to wink at him and he smiled back, getting up himself to meander off. I took a second to wish he’d been in Dallas when I’d discovered Van.

  I turned back to Fae Lynn and the crew, saying goodbyes and promising to call, committing myself to bringing dip for a game night someone was hosting. Tally and I walked out, her arm around my shoulders, chattering about some guy and baseball. I took a deep breath as the night hit us, making a decision I should not have been making under the influence of fake food, a warm feeling, and on the heels of a life-altering experience. I put my arm around Tally to squeeze and informed her of something I suspected she and everyone else already knew.

  “I’m staying.”

  Chapter Four

  “Daddy, I need your help.” I stated this without inflection over my pancakes the next morning, flipped by my very own father. Sunday breakfast was a tradition, and the easiest way to get Tally’s butt out of bed and ready for church on time. Daddy always made breakfast and left the mess. He mysteriously disappeared at the point the cleanup began.

  “Watcha need, Lilly Kay?”

  I’m not an “ask-for-help” kind of girl. Yes, my parents had paid for all my schooling, and yes, they’d subsidized my income during that period, and yes, I was a pampered, spoiled-rotten princess. But I’m also very stubborn, and hate to admit it; my pride could get the best of me. An attribute God’s been trying to rid me of most of my life. Considering the latest state of my affairs, He was stepping up the ante. As it was, I was currently out of a job and bored out of my mind.

  This left me with too much time to sit and stew about the hot mess I’d left behind in Dallas. Since I’d decided to stay in Brooks indefinitely, until I’d at least nursed my wounds, I needed to put my pride aside. Rex Atkins had more connections than a nuclear-bombed octopus. If I was going to put my degree and bar memberships to use, I needed to remember where my bread was buttered.

  “An office, to begin with. Furnished, hopefully. Maybe a secretary, although I can get by without for a while. And well, most importantly, your endorsement.”

  With a somewhat surprised look, he turned to my mom, who sat in her pearls with her hot tea, a cat-that-ate-the-canary expression on her face.

  “This is a permanent move?” Tally giggled and Mama took another sip. I tried not to sigh.

  “It is for now.”

  Daddy cut through it. “Because you feel like you have no other options, or because you really feel like this is where you should be?” It’s hard sometimes to be articulate and honest at the same time, but I tried my best.

  “I feel like this is where I’m supposed to be for now. I’m making a commitment to stay; you don’t need to worry about your investment being a waste.” He waved his hand to cut me off.

  “Didn’t even cross my mind. But I thought you were coming back to heal a broken heart, not set up shop. I just want to make sure you’re giving yourself enough time to bounce back.”

  “Rex, don’t you know that work’s the best way to heal hearts?” my mother answered before I could. “She’s got to get herself back to herself. There’s no sense in her moping around here like someone died. That’s not what we do.” Daddy was nodding, but I could see he was still worried about me. As odd as it sounds, Daddy tends to be a little more sensitive than Mama, whose motto was “Never let them see you sweat.” Daddy tended not to care who saw him sweat or otherwise. I took it upon myself to dissuade his fears.

  “I’m good Daddy. I know it seems like a quick decision, but I think I knew when I packed my bags that this is what would be my result. I could use a little boring, old, small town law right now. Working is what I do. I promise to get some therapy if it’d make you feel better.” I winked at him. He smiled.

  “No need, sugar. I’ll get you fixed up. You’re right… You could use some client problems to distract you from your own.”

  Chapter Five

  A week and a half later, on a late Tuesday afternoon, I sat at the old Chippendale desk loaned from my mother, in the office procured by my father, surrounded by stacks of files and miscellaneous papers; old work product that I didn’t need any more, left over from the days at Hurst and Edwards. I had often used my previous cases to prepare for current ones. But now, instead of handling only real estate contracts, I was going to be a “Jill of all trades,” taking care of traffic tickets and wills and anything else for which the good citizens of Brooks wanted to hire me. I also had a fearful premonition that I would be doing a lot of pro bono work. I doubted any of the high profile cases I had dealt with in Dallas would add clarity to any situation I needed to prepare for in Brooks. Although the law was the law on either side of the border, I supposed.

  I still hadn’t been able to fully get a handle on my usual methods of organization. My hair, instead of the smooth, quietly sophisticated style I preferred, had given way to the mop of unruly curls for which it had a natural inclination. I had done better with the makeup this morning; and along with my normal skin regimen, had managed mascara, probably due to Nonnie arriving at the house at six a.m. with the biscuit she so thought I needed.

  “Lilly, honey, don’t even think of stepping out of this house without your lashes covered. It makes you look tired.”

  I think I mentioned that Nonnie had long dispensed with the niceties. When she handed me the mascara, she surveyed me critically and dug through my array of cosmetic enhancers for blush and simply handed it to me. Thank God for Nonnie, and God bless her meddling little soul. I’d always thought she could sense what needed to be done before anyone else and today would prove no exception.

  I pushed the mop back from my face and blew out my breath upwards, causing wayward curls to dance on my forehead as I surveyed the mess of what was now my “office.” Daddy’s connections had proven themselves and he had found me a quaint little downtown space to “get me away from the hustle and bustle and back to my roots.” Next door to a prom and pageant store, it was just close enough to his office and Mama’s shop for either of them to pop over and say hey. Bless their hearts. Heavy on the sarcasm. But that was to be expected. I’m sure Daddy knew exactly what he was doing when he put me in this spot. You see, in Brooks, everyone knows whose check’s good and whose husband isn’t.
If you weren’t sure, guaranteed someone could find out within the hour. The grapevine of gossip in Brooks was more efficient than the PTA phone chain in Stepford.

  So here I was; 5:30 on a balmy, breezy Oklahoma evening, putting off going home to either run or have Tally drill me on commercial real estate contracts while trying to talk me into investing in her latest fashion business venture. What I really wanted was a nap and the ability to wake up and have control over my life.

  I heard the door open out front and the bell jangle in a hokey fashion. Pushing my chair back from my desk with a sigh, I searched for the cup of caffeine that had long lost its warmth and appeal. I bumped my hip against my desk, muttered “ouch,” and headed toward the outer portion of the office, calling “Comin’,” in the redneck drawl that had crept back into my speech.

  I stepped through the doorway, glanced up, saw him, dropped my favorite mug, not noticing when it shattered, and heard a faint whisper.

  “Hey Lilly.”

  Cash Stetson hadn’t changed. Oh, he had, of course. Those shoulders had gotten broader, the muscle in his arms heftier and less sinewy than his pitching days. The clean-shaven jaw no longer resembled the goatee and mustache of youth. The ball cap so often settled on that head had been tossed off in deference to distinguished graying hair at the temples- premature, I supposed; caused by anxiety and grievance, I hoped. Had I really just described Cash Stetson as distinguished? I had, hadn’t I? Must be the heat. I’ve got to get that window unit fixed.

  I remembered long legs in Wranglers and cowboy boots, and polo shirts bought by a doting mother. He’d worn outrageously expensive cologne that smelled outrageously sexy and never seemed to meld with his ‘good-ole-boy’ image.

  Today, however, that same scent emanating from him matched the expensive light-weight gray suit, coordinated black leather shoes and belt, and light blue dress shirt that lit up his lyin’ twinklin’ eyes. Only the open collar that I suspected had been closed and covered by an equally expensive tie at one time today hinted at the recklessness that had once fascinated and intimidated me.

  But he was still the same. Those baby-blues still smirking but hesitant, wanting to challenge me but afraid of how I would react. Those lips, expressively curving into an insolent grin, the top lip smaller than the bottom; giving his mouth an almost feminine quality that only served to enhance his overbearing masculinity. He cocked one thick eyebrow, the same color as his thick, dark hair that held a hint of auburn, explaining the childhood photos of a grinning, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy. He cocked the eyebrow and waited, knowing full well that he was being inspected and knowing full well that I damn sure liked what I saw. It was rare a female in Cash’s vicinity wasn’t taken in, however quick the perusal.

  Yep. Still the same old Cash, I determined as he licked his lower lip.

  I gazed up at all 6’2” of him with a simper and bat of the eyelashes that would have done Nonnie proud, drawling,

  “Huh. Well, look what the cat dragged in. And just as I thought my day couldn’t get any more unpleasant.” He laughed, showing wicked rows of white teeth. I wished I’d been able to find my straightening iron this morning along with something elegantly expensive instead of one of my sister’s tight sweaters, a denim skirt and an ancient pair of Stuart Weitzman’s I’d found stashed in my childhood closet. I knew though, if I stopped to think, that all the expensive hair products in the world or any army of designer shoes were no armor against Cash. Rationally, I knew this; but emotionally, I yearned for that perfectly sophisticated shade of Laura Mercier lipstick hidden in an unpacked bag instead of Tally’s Dr. Pepper Chapstick. I would never understand her penchant for cheap cosmetics.

  That evil grin flashed again as he surveyed my curls and casual outfit.

  “Didn’t take you long to return to your roots, did it Lilly? I guess we all come home to roost sooner or later. I always did enjoy those curls…,” he drawled as he lazily sauntered over. I flushed and flashed a haughty look, embarrassed by the change in temperature my body produced whenever he invaded any space I was in. I needed a glass of iced tea. Even after seven years he still…

  But he didn’t. I was no longer that twenty-one year old nervous wreck lacking in self-confidence inspired by his so-called sexual prowess and womanizing reputation. No, I was a twenty-eight year old female with a strong sense of self, hours of therapy, a law degree, and a host of morons I’d dated to forget him.

  So as he stood in the doorway in the sunset’s light (Isn’t that an old country song? I can’t remember if she left him or took him back.) attempting to convince himself he had the upper hand, I triumphed with a silent chuckle, thrusting my chest forward and cocking a hip in typical gunslinger’s fashion- adjusted into a challenge inspired by Tally in her modeling days.

  “Stetson, you’d better state the intent of your visit, ‘cause my time’s probably more expensive than you can afford,” I bluffed. I knew full well that he was wealthier than I at the moment thanks to Mama’s chatter about how he’d finally “made something of himself.”

  Nostrils on his sharp, prominent nose flared as he took in my face and my challenge. He walked over to the bookcase filled with law books and picked up a framed photo of me and Tally at a baseball game down in Texas and smiled, his first genuine smile since he’d come into my office.

  “She’s a mess, huh?” he asked. It was the one thing we’d always been able to agree on. I smiled too.

  “Yep, and if we ever forgot, she’d be sure to tell us. But that’s not why you’re here, to talk about Tally,” I stated, not a question.

  “No,” he turned, piercing me with those vividly cool, true-blue eyes that at one time could make me ignore a lot of the ingrained aforementioned rules I’d had tattooed on my brain. He took a deep breath, set his jaw, and said to me words I’d never heard and never thought I’d hear from those lips.

  “I need your help.”

  Chapter Six

  Thirty minutes later I was still trying to calm my racing thoughts and jangled nerves when Tally burst through the door to my inner office and flung herself into one of the antique chairs Mama had found on one of her buying trips. I winced as those famously long legs with their thirty-six inch inseam to match her thirty-six inch bust settled over the arm of the too expensive chair.

  “What in the hell was Cash Stetson doin’ in your office,” she said, her drawl laid on extra thick for drama’s sake. “Please Lord, don’t tell me that you’ve only been in town a week and y’all are at each other again? Y’all are like two cats in a sack, either scratchin’ at each other or scratchin’ each other’s itch.” Although Tally had always had a flair for the dramatic, her depiction was not too far off from reality. Cash and I had a tumultuous history, and Brooks still liked to reminisce about our many public displays of affectionate animosity.

  Tally’s eyes, clear as a Tulsa sky (isn’t that another country song, Lord help me) flashed as she leaned forward, “So, tell me, Sissy,” referring to her childhood nickname for me, “Was there blood?” I laughed. Lord knows how hard it was not to love my little sister, hard as it was to put up with her.

  Tally loved Cash as much as I once had, in a different sort of way. Cash was the brother Tally never had; and they understood each other in ways that Cash and I never could. They both liked keeping secrets, and both had the ability to make you love them, even while they were wreaking havoc.

  “No,” I addressed her, “as much as you’d like to imagine us back to clawing at each other again, we weren’t.” She eyed me skeptically with all the authority of the older sister she wasn’t.

  “I can’t think of a time when y’all have been in the same room for more than five minutes and you haven’t been scratchin’ at each other. I’m gonna ask you one more time. What in the hell was Cash Stetson doing in your office?” Not to be intimidated, I met her stare.

  “How do you know he was here for more than five minutes?” I countered. Not to be deterred, she shot me one eye under a raised brow.


  “I was watching from Daddy’s office. You’re lucky Mama went to have her hair done or she’d have seen the show too, and Lord knows you’d be getting the third degree from her by now as well.” She fixed me with the unwavering look that had made her famous. “For the third and final time, quit stallin’ on me. What was Cash Stetson doin’ in your office?” I took a deep breath, looked from my window to Tally and said words I never thought I’d say in reference to the boy who’d been a stick in my romantic craw since the day we’d met thirteen years ago.

  “He needs my help.”

  Chapter Seven

  “You’ve got to be shittin’ me. Please tell me you’re shittin’ me. You’re not a divorce lawyer. You do real estate transactions and wills and like, like, paperwork,” Fae Lynn, my skinny childhood best friend bellowed, dropping the bite of chicken fried steak she’d been ready to eat. The fork clattered to the floor, and I retrieved it, waving to the waitress for a new one. After the Cash incident, Tally had insisted my blood sugar was low, causing me to make decisions I wouldn’t normally make. We’d headed across the street to Jerry’s, an extra greasy spoon. I was currently surveying the mess of French fried sweet potatoes and ribs on my plate.

  “That’s what I said,” Tally added, waving her ketchup-dripping fry in the air, slinging the condiment, “Not the ‘you’re shittin’ me’ part, but the divorce lawyer part.”

  I smiled at Fae Lynn and said more calmly than I felt.

  “I assure you I shit you not, and I’ve studied family law as well, which includes divorce proceedings. I’m a little rusty, but we lawyers love research.” I waved my long fingers blandly. She regarded me with the same skepticism Tally had earlier, and her own added wariness.

  “Lilly, you’re vehemently opposed to divorce, you wrote your senior thesis on the theory of how divorce mediation can turn into marriage counseling. Please tell me you didn’t say yes? Agh… You did. When are you going to learn with him?” She turned to Tally before I could answer in the negative and tell her I’d only promised him to think about it. “This is senior year all over again. I swear, it’s the jackass and the dumbass all over again.”