The Comforts of Home

by Jodi Thomas

  “I promise,” she answered, knowing the weight of such a request.

  She relaxed into the warmth of his smile. She was learning him. He’d sounded angry, but maybe he’d been just worried or in pain. The thought that he might care about her feelings, even a tiny bit, made her comfortable.

  “You look like you’re dressed up for Halloween as a trash bag.”

  He watched her as she pulled off her slicker and wool coat and hung them on the back of one chair, and then he added, “Better, much better.”

  Ronelle wished she’d bought the blouse she’d shopped for, or even new shoes. Most of the time she felt like a watercolor done only in grays.

  He reached over and shoved the chair out on his right, then left his hand on the back of it as she sat down. When she settled, he brushed her shoulder lightly. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Because I brought pie?”

  “That’s it, Ronny.” He leaned back. “I never make desserts, and since I don’t get out much I rarely have them. What kind did you bring?”

  “One apple. One chocolate. Which one do you want?” She reached for the bag, but his hand stopped her.

  “Later,” he said. “If I see them now, I won’t eat lunch.”

  His hand remained over hers as he studied her for a moment, and then he asked, “Why haven’t you asked me what happened with my legs?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  He shoved her hand away from him. “You mean an accident that almost killed me isn’t important?”

  She shook her head. “I mean the chair, the reason you’re in it doesn’t matter to me. It’s not the reason I’m here.”

  He remained silent a while before saying in almost a whisper, “Why are you here, Ronny, and don’t tell me it’s for the cooking.”

  She straightened. “I’m here because you asked me. Girls like me don’t get asked even to lunch all that often.”

  “What do you mean, girls like you?” His question shot out like a whip snapping an inch from her face.

  She closed her eyes, knowing she couldn’t list her shortcomings, not even to him. He could see who she was . . . what she was. Dull, boring, painfully shy, and as she’d been told by her mother all her life . . . plain, simply plain. Brown hair, brown eyes, too tall, too big in the chest to be fashionable, too awkward, and a hundred more faults. Her mother’s advice was always the same: Try to be invisible, Ronelle; just try to be invisible. Sometimes Ronelle thought if she managed it and really did vanish one day, no one would notice.

  “Open your eyes,” Marty said as he tilted her head up. “Look at me.”

  She did, very much aware of his thumb moving along the line of her jaw as he looked at her.

  “I wish you could see what I see,” he whispered, moving so close she thought he might kiss her.

  She shook her head, not wanting him to feel sorry for her. “No false sunshine, remember.”

  He moved away. “Eat your soup while it’s still hot,” he snapped, then added, “You are either the dumbest woman I’ve ever met or the smartest. Either way, I’m probably so out of practice at reading people I’m too dumb to tell.”

  She lifted her spoon, trying to figure out what he was trying to tell her. As before, they ate in silence.

  “Finished?” he asked as he shoved his plate back.

  She nodded and set down her spoon.

  “Then let’s see the pie.”

  She opened the sack and pulled out two small containers. Opening them both, she asked, “Which one do you want?”

  “I’ll take the apple.” He took one bite and said, “No, let me try the chocolate.”

  Before she could taste the apple, he traded plates and took a bite of the chocolate.

  Ronny lifted her fork and watched the apple pie before her disappear as he mumbled, “No, I think this one is better. Maybe I should give it another try.”

  She laughed as he ate both pieces of pie.

  When the plates were empty, he shook his head. “Really, neither one of them was very good; maybe you should bring different ones next time.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  He glanced down at both plates. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want any?”

  “No.” She smiled. “It was much more fun watching you eat both.”

  “Maybe next time you should bring a whole pie.”

  “Next time.” She liked the sound of that. “We’ll do everything the same. You’ll cook and I’ll bring dessert, only I promise to try to find one I like and you don’t.”

  He shoved his chair back from the table and rolled beside her. “No,” he said simply. “We won’t do everything the same, Ronny. I don’t want you kissing me on the cheek at the door anymore.” He let his fingers rest over her arm.

  “All right.” She ripped up the paper napkin in her lap. Nothing this nice could ever remain. She shouldn’t have even hoped.

  His hand moved over the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I want to kiss you when we’re at eye level, if you’ve no objections.”

  She looked up. “What?” She’d heard his words but couldn’t believe them.

  He laughed. “Like this, Ronny.” He leaned close, his hand still gripping her arm as if he thought she might run.

  His mouth closed over hers. She didn’t move as his tongue slid along the seam of her lips. When she didn’t react, he straightened away.

  “You didn’t like it?” His eyebrows went together as if he were surprised he’d read her so wrong.

  She didn’t answer.

  His tone turned dark. “All you have to do is tell me, Ronny. I’ve no intention of doing anything that you don’t want. Hell, it didn’t mean anything. You don’t have to look at me like I just stole your mailbag. I’m sorry I grossed you out so completely you can’t speak.” He shoved away from her.

  “I . . .” she started, knowing she had to say something. “I don’t know if I liked it. I’ve never had anyone kiss me like that before.”

  He looked like he didn’t believe her, then finally said, “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “How old are you, Ronny?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “What?” she said. “That I’m twenty-seven or that I’ve never been kissed.”

  “Both, I guess.” He plowed his hand through his black hair. “I was guessing you were about twenty, maybe twenty-one. No one gets to be twenty-seven without being kissed. You’ve got to be lying.”

  She stood suddenly. She’d always thought of herself as strange, not like others, but now he seemed to want to dwell on just how strange he thought she was. “I said I wouldn’t lie.” Words seemed to hiccup from her. “I have to go.”

  “Fine. Will you come back next Friday?”

  “I don’t know.” She was out the door before he could ask any more questions.

  Halfway to the street she realized she’d forgotten her coat and the old satchel. She turned around and stormed back inside.

  He was still sitting by the little table, his head down. When he looked up at her he reminded her of a dark hero in a novel. Strong, brooding, handsome.

  “Did you forget something?” The angry man was back.

  “Yes.” Ronny pulled her chair beside his and sat down facing him. “How you hurt your legs doesn’t matter. The wheelchair doesn’t matter because I don’t see the chair. I see the man. A man who is like me, who doesn’t like being around many people, who wants to be honest but the words don’t come easy.” She gulped for air and added, “I see a person I’m not afraid of because he sees me.”

  “Anything else,” he grumbled, “now that you’ve finally decided to talk?”

  “Yes. I don’t lie. I don’t know how to kiss. I don’t know a lot of things, but I’d like to learn.”

  “You want me to teach you?” He now looked far more surprised than angry.

  “Yes,” she whispered, as her entire body shook with fear. She’d never done anything so insane in her life.
If her mother learned of this she’d have her committed. “I want to feel and not just walk around asleep. I want to talk to someone who listens. I want you to care about me, but I don’t know how to start.”

  He sat back in his chair and watched her for a minute, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “Give me your hand,” he ordered gently.

  Ronny lifted her hand. He gripped it in strong fingers. “Why me? There must be a dozen men in this town who’d love to teach you how to kiss and a lot more. All you’d have to do is dress up and step into Buffalo’s Bar one night and they’d be standing in line.”

  She shook her head. “Not true.”

  “It is too, but that’s not important. ‘Why me’ is.” He laced his fingers through hers and held on so tightly it was almost painful. “Nothing but the truth, Ronny. No manipulation, no lies between us.”

  “Because you’re the only man who ever made me sorry I didn’t know how.”

  “Lean forward, for me, would you?” He tugged her to the edge of her chair.

  He raised her hand and rested it on his shoulder. “Close your eyes.” His hand moved to her chin. “Wet your lips.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “Now, open that beautiful mouth.”

  She blinked.

  He smiled. “I’m not kidding, honey. You got the kind of mouth made to be kissed. The fact that you haven’t learned tells me the men in this town are all blind.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, pressing slightly in the middle. “Now, lets start over. Close your eyes.”

  He pressed harder against her lips. “Now, open your mouth slightly.” When she did, he lowered her bottom lip and moved his thumb against the moist inside of her mouth.

  As his thumb circled her mouth, she heard his voice, low and very close to her ear.

  “Relax, Ronny, nothing about this is going to hurt. I’m just going to kiss you, nice and easy.” His thumb moved over her mouth once more. “And you’re going to love it.”

  His hand moved to the back of her neck and tugged her closer. She jerked when his tongue began to brush her lips as if tasting her, but he didn’t let her pull back. “Now,” he whispered while his lips touched hers. “Just like before, open your mouth and let me inside.”

  When she did, she felt his lips move over hers and his tongue brushed the inside of her bottom lip.

  Then, as simple as that, he was kissing her and she was lost in the pleasure of it.

  When he finally pulled away, she waited, her mouth wet and slightly open.

  “That’s lesson one.” He smiled as she opened her eyes. “We’re going to take it one lesson at a time. Now, do I need to repeat lesson one?”

  “Yes, please,” she whispered.

  The second kiss was bolder, and she almost cried for more when it finally ended.

  She slowly stood, pulled on her coat, and walked toward the door.

  “Ronny.” He stopped her with a word. “Come back Monday. I don’t want to wait a week to kiss you again.”

  “All right.” She touched her fingers to her mouth. “To answer your question from before, I liked being kissed. I liked it very much.”

  She was at the door when she heard him say, “So did I.”

  Chapter 34

  TRUMAN FARM

  REAGAN SPOTTED NOAH WALKING ALONG THE ROAD WHEN she drove back from the Truman orchard. The muddy potholed lane was slippery, but he didn’t seem to notice. He walked like a bull rider, she thought. That kind of slow swing as if pushing his hip bones forward in a loose way while one of his powerful shoulders hung lower than the other. She’d heard an announcer say once that rodeo cowboys were a breed apart, and bull riders were the wildest among the wild.

  Every group seemed to have a few like that. Pilots had their barnstormers who risked death every time they climbed to the sky. Skiers had their hotdoggers. Soldiers had their Special Forces. From the beginning of time they’d been the heroes, the legends . . . the men who came home on their shields.

  The whole town talked about Noah McAllen like he was a star, but Reagan just wanted him back as her friend.

  “Noah!” she yelled over the thunder. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I couldn’t take your uncle and Miss Pat arguing any longer. When I left they were rehashing a fight they had before the war. Sixty years and they still can’t settle it. I suggested dueling pistols and the only ground they found in common was to order me out.”

  Reagan laughed. Almost from the moment Pat Matheson moved in to help, uninvited, she and Jeremiah had been arguing about everything. Though they drove everyone crazy, the two senior citizens seemed to be having a ball. Jeremiah hadn’t looked as good in months. He refused to use his chair. He’d had Reagan trim his hair. If she didn’t know better Reagan would think the two of them were courting again.

  “Get in!” Reagan ordered Noah. “I’ll run away from home with you.”

  He laughed and swung into the cart. “I don’t care where we go, just get me out of here.”

  “I know just the place.” She drove to the garage and they switched to her old pickup.

  In ten minutes they were turning onto the old McAllen ranch, which Noah’s father had given him the day he turned eighteen.

  Noah stiffened.

  Reagan slowed and looked at him. “I thought you’d like to drive over to your land.” She could see that she’d made a mistake.

  “It wasn’t meant to be mine, you know,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Dad always said he’d split it right in half and give Warren and me each a share. He thought we’d run it together, and Alex would eventually get the house in town.

  “I don’t remember much about when the family lived here, but Alex and Warren used to talk about when we all lived out on the ranch before Dad and Mom separated. Dad loved it out here, but I don’t think he ever loved ranching. For him it was the rodeo, and when he gave up the blood and the mud, he couldn’t seem to make a go at just ranching.”

  Reagan slowly moved toward the ranch house. “How old were you when your brother, Warren, was killed?”

  “Thirteen. Sometimes when I think back to the days after he died, it seems like I was just standing in a corner watching. Alex had just finished her master’s in criminal justice and was home celebrating. Warren had only been a highway patrolman for a few years and he was so proud of her. He was on a late call the night she got home. Walked up to a parked car and was shot in the face, probably by a drug dealer. That’s all I remember. He and Alex were so much older than me, I thought of them more as a second set of parents than my brother and sister. Even now, if she knew I was home she’d be over here telling me how to run my life.”

  Reagan pulled up to the abandoned ranch house. “Where are the couple who lived out here and kept the place up?”

  “They moved on. I told Dad to sell the few cattle to pay the taxes, and last I heard Hank and Alex were looking after my horses.” Noah looked over the winter landscape, watching tumbleweeds blow in the wind. “You know, Rea, I think this place is jinxed.”

  “It’s beautiful. It’s your land. How could it be jinxed?”

  Noah shook his head. “My sister doesn’t want any part of it but that little cabin down by the brakes. Warren never wanted it; his goal was to be a Texas Ranger. Mom and Dad always fought over it. The only square I’ll ever really feel like is mine will be the square I’ll be buried on.”

  Reagan cut the engine. “Let’s walk.”

  “It looks like rain.” Noah gripped the window frame with his hand as if he thought about refusing to move.

  Reagan ignored him and climbed out. She walked to the front of the pickup and stared out at the beautiful open land.

  When he finally climbed out, she took his hand and pulled. They walked across land that had been owned by McAllens for more than a hundred years. The corral gate was down. Tiles had blown off the roof of the main house and were scattered around, baked terra-cotta planted in forgotten gardens.

  Reagan fought down t
ears. She didn’t care how run-down the place looked; it had once been Noah’s dream. He’d talked for hours about what he was going to do with his land when he won big money in the rodeo and came home. He’d said he’d have hundreds of head of cattle and rough stock for all the little rodeos around. He’d laughed and said he wanted a houseful of kids to help with the chores.

  “What do you dream?” she whispered. “What do you still dream, Noah?”

  He shook his head, knowing what she was asking. “Nothing,” he finally said. “Nothing about here. I used to love riding across this place, but now I don’t want to even see the few horses I still own. Hank can have them for all I care. I dream of making the best time at the next rodeo. Of drawing a good bull. Of having enough gas to make the next town in time, but I don’t dream of coming home any more.”

  Reagan put her arm around his waist and hugged him as they walked. Finally, he stopped and stared out over rolling hills and brakes that he once thought would make the perfect horse ranch. For as far as they could see there was nothing but his land. Abandoned land. Forgotten land.

  “Like Dad, I can’t sell this place, but I can’t see living here like I used to think I would. I’m no longer that guy.”

  “No bars around for a drink. No buckle bunnies wanting to two-step,” she teased.

  “Believe me, the nights were not as wild as the old-timers talk about.”

  “What do you dream?” she asked again.

  He shook his head. “I used to dream of the lights and the money at nationals, but lately I’m not even sure I want to go back.” He was silent for a moment and said, “I’m not sure I can go back, Rea. The fear of climbing back in the chute makes me shake. And worse than that fear is the realization that I don’t know what I want any more, and that scares the hell out of me.”

  Noah rubbed his eyes and swore at the damn mist in the air. “I once dreamed of me and you, Rea, but now I feel lucky to have you as a friend. From the very first you saw right through all my BS, and you still do.”

  She couldn’t stand to see Noah broken. He’d always been the one to help her stand up. He’d always been her anchor, her friend. “Stop it.” She poked him in the ribs.