by Becky Wade
An unfamiliar BMW sat in Ty’s driveway in the exact place where Celia always parked. Odd. She slid in beside it and made her way along the path to his house.
A beautiful brunette let herself out his front door.
Celia’s steps cut to a halt.
The woman saw her, lifted a hand in greeting, and continued toward Celia.
A bad taste, like copper, gathered in Celia’s throat.
“Hi.” The woman stopped a few feet from Celia. “I’m Tawny.”
Celia’s heartbeat thudded abnormally loud. Somehow, from reserves deep down inside, she managed to smile. “Nice to meet you. I’m Celia.” The misery and jealousy and rejection of that long ago morning in Vegas came back to Celia physically, like a punch. All of it. Back. Everything she’d worked so hard to leave behind.
“I met Addie inside,” Tawny said. “She’s adorable.”
“Thank you.”
“I just stopped by to bring Ty dinner. I feel bad for him, with the knee and all.”
“Yeah.”
“Poor guy.” Her face held a level of gravity only appropriate for natural disasters.
“Mmm hmm.” Ty loved Tawny.
This was the woman he loved.
This was the woman he wanted to marry.
And wretchedly, Celia could see why. Tawny was tall and slender and obviously perfect for him in her high-heeled espadrilles and her breezy yellow and white trellis-patterned dress.
Celia had on red shorts, a white T-shirt, and flip-flops. She’d been gardening in the Texas heat. Of all the times, all the moments . . . She was meeting Tawny after she’d been gardening.
“Here in Holley we bring food when someone has a baby,” Tawny was explaining, “or is struggling through the loss of a loved one, or has an injury like Ty, you know. We do our best to take care of our own.”
“That’s really kind of you. I’m sure Ty appreciates the food.”
“Have you settled into your new house okay?”
“I have.”
“That’s good to hear. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything at all. I’d love to help.” Tawny appeared to be as sweet on the outside as a Linzer cookie, but underneath, in the depths of her eyes, Celia read calculation. Tawny wanted Ty for herself. More, she didn’t like Celia. How could she? Celia had once married and slept with Tawny’s boyfriend.
“I’ll see you around,” Tawny called as they moved in opposite directions.
Celia glanced back to see Tawny, flowing hair and long legs, stepping into the BMW. She experienced such a stunning surge of envy that she tucked herself, unseen, into a corner of Ty’s porch to recover. Celia couldn’t claim Ty as her own, but boy, oh boy, she did not want Tawny to claim him, either. Just the thought of the two of them together caused her stomach to turn into a lead ball.
She’d do well to remember that Tawny didn’t deserve her animosity. It wasn’t Tawny’s fault that Ty liked her better. Also, Tawny had refused to take Ty back after Vegas and had then given him the silent treatment for years. Admirable.
But when Celia pictured Tawny and Ty’s wedding—the two of them standing at the front of a church, both equally stunning, with their cute names that both started with T—she had a hard time finding kindness within her for either of them. The prospect of Tawny becoming Addie’s stepmother, of having to see and speak with Tawny at Porter family occasions for the rest of her life, sent utter misery straight through her.
She pressed her hands against her face and tried to tell herself that if Tawny wanted to shackle herself to the devastation-on-a-stick known as Ty Porter, then she could have him. Celia didn’t believe that any woman would be able to keep a grip on Ty Porter’s love and devotion for an entire lifetime. One could speculate that Celia had come closer than any woman, since she had a marriage certificate. But he’d only been hers for a single reckless night. That’s as long as she’d held him.
When she knocked on Ty’s door, she was still furious, even though she knew her fury was unreasonable.
Ty answered, leaning on one crutch. “What’re you all knotted up about?”
“Nothing.”
“Is one of your paint colors too normal looking?”
“Is Addie ready?”
“Latest batch of cookies too salty?”
She edged past him into the foyer, catching a whiff of his pine-scented cologne. Had Tawny caught it, too? “Addie! C’mon, Punkie. We need to head home.”
Ty watched her with an amused half smile.
“Addie?” Celia called. “You coming?”
“Yes, Mommy.” Addie’s voice sailed in from the back of the house.
“Will you stay for dinner tonight, please?” Ty asked. “I’ll order pizza.”
“No thank you.”
He lifted and resettled the ball cap he had on. “You’re not going to tell me why you’re mad?”
“I’m not mad.” She wanted to order him to shut up and strip off his T-shirt. No, she wanted to slap him for making her want to see him shirtless. She was losing her mind. Maybe the paint fumes this past week had done it.
“Ohhhh,” he murmured under his breath. “You ran into Tawny out there, didn’t you?”
She set her jaw.
“You’re upset because you like me.” Thoroughly masculine pleasure stamped his expression. “You want me for yourself.”
“Absurd!”
“What did you think of Tawny?”
“She was . . . nice.”
“She’s nice, all right.”
“And dating a pediatrician, as I recall.”
“For the moment. Sure you won’t stay for dinner? Pretty please?”
“We need to get home.” If she didn’t know better, she’d think the flare she saw in his eyes was hurt.
The patter of kid feet approached, then Addie burst into sight. “’Bye, Daddy. Thank you for having me.”
“You’re welcome.” He propped a shoulder against the door’s frame. “Tomorrow’s the big day, Addie. The first day of school.”
Addie nodded.
“Your mom wants to take you there in the morning, but we’ll both come to pick you up when school is finished.”
“’Kay.”
“You’ll do awesome.”
Addie regarded Ty with a face full of trust. “Yep,” she said. “I will.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
He seemed a little lost, the big beautiful cowboy, as they walked away and left him behind.
All the way back to the gingerbread house, Celia’s emotions heaved. Anger. Why had she let herself get tangled up with Ty again? Despair. How could she bear to send Addie to school tomorrow? Possessiveness. Was Ty eating Tawny’s dinner?
When Addie wasn’t looking, she stripped the Give Peace a Chance charm from her key ring and threw it—hard—into the trash.
Chapter Sixteen
Late that night, Ty hit Replay. The YouTube video filling the computer screen in his office began again.
He’d come to know every second of every video. When he was alone, he could watch the ride from several different angles in his own memory. The bull’s motion. His counter motion. He could see the years of experience in his form just as clearly as he could see the bull’s faults and strengths. Meteor was a twenty-one-point bull. Nothing special about him. Ty had covered bulls just like him hundreds of times before.
He dug his elbows into the surface of his desk and rested his forehead on the flat of his hands.
He missed Celia. He’d brought her to Holley, and she still wasn’t near enough to satisfy him.
Every night he missed her.
She’d hardly been at his house all week. Nothing more than a few minutes in the mornings or afternoons.
When she was with him, she amused him, insulted him, and made him laugh. Everything was fine. When she left, his knee killed him and bitterness fought for control of his thoughts.
He lifted his head and stared at the video. He remembered how his ins
tincts had been warning him not to ride that night in Boise. If he’d had a lick of sense, he wouldn’t have. Bull riders were superstitious for a reason.
His gaze followed the blur of color and motion on the screen. After all this time, he still couldn’t understand why he’d come off Meteor. It bothered him, the question of why. He watched the videos and tried to find the answer in them. Other times he went back over everything that had been printed about the accident. He always hunted for the one clue that would make him understand.
If it existed—the piece of evidence that would explain why his career had ended—he couldn’t find it.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of Vicodin. He popped the top and saw that just three pills remained. The dose he’d taken earlier hadn’t done the job, so he took a slug from his bottled water and threw down another pill. Tomorrow he’d have to refill the prescription again.
He leaned back in his leather chair and closed his eyes. He’d worked hard in his life, and in return he’d achieved what he’d wanted to achieve in the world of bull riding. He’d faced injuries and setbacks and long odds before. He’d overcome them, but he couldn’t overcome this.
He was a bull rider with a broken-down career, a wild side that couldn’t be trusted, and a heart that seethed for something it couldn’t have. Who was he now? How was he supposed to measure his worth without his job? He didn’t know, and he sure didn’t like living with this ruined leg every day and every night.
He’d spent years getting his finances in order. He could retire right now, never earn another paycheck, and still be set for life. The thought of retiring, though, filled him with emptiness. How would he spend his days? Golfing?
No way.
He needed work to give him purpose.
Just yesterday his neighbor Jim had called to tell him that he and his wife were thinking about selling their acres. If Ty combined his acreage with Jim’s, he’d have a big enough spread to begin raising rodeo stock, just like he’d always planned to do when bull riding ended.
Buying Jim’s land would offer Ty a future. But . . . but what? It was as if he needed to put away the bull riding and his old life first, before he’d have room in him for anything else.
Maybe that’s why he’d become obsessed with that final ride. The old bull rider in him didn’t understand what had happened on Meteor that day in Idaho. And until he could understand it, he couldn’t get past it.
“Okay . . . well, ’bye.” Celia and Addie had arrived at Addie’s kindergarten classroom a full ten minutes before school started. Celia had hung Addie’s backpack on its hook, helped her select a cat Beanie Baby as her friend for the morning, and taken numerous pictures of Addie both with and without her teacher.
“’Bye, Mom.” Addie sat at her assigned seat, very still, her hands mounded on the table. She looked like a portrait whose artist had captured politeness, nervousness, and bravery all at the same time.
Addie had chosen to wear the new outfit that Meg and Bo had given her for her birthday, a red polo and a navy skirt dotted with tiny apples. A plastic box of school supplies labeled with her name waited near her elbow. Her kindergarten classroom was as impeccably organized and cheerful as Celia had hoped for.
Time for Celia to leave. Except . . . maybe she should stay a little longer and keep Addie company until her teacher started class? Another picture?
“See you later,” Addie said.
“All right. I’ll be here when school ends, waiting right outside the school doors for you like we discussed.”
“’Kay, Mom.”
Her daughter. Her only child. Where had her baby gone? “Do . . . do you need anything else?”
“No, I’m good. ’Bye.”
“’Bye. I . . . Are you positively sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure.”
“Your lunch is in your backpack.”
“I know.”
“Addie?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mommy.”
Her heart cracking clean in two, Celia smiled at her little girl. Then she walked to her car without looking left or right, without thinking. The school PTA would be hosting a Boo-Hoo Breakfast for parents of kindergarteners once the bell rang. Celia wasn’t going. She didn’t want to cry in front of strangers, nor did she want to risk coming in contact with any parent who might have the gall to feel happy about the start of kindergarten and all the child-free hours it ensured.
The moment she closed herself into her Prius, grief washed through her. She felt herself beginning to slip. Crying quietly at first and then with wracking breaths, she clutched the steering wheel and drove toward the gingerbread house.
For five years Addie’s unswerving dependence on her had given Celia’s life meaning. As of today, however, her daughter had become an elementary student. From here on out, she’d grow more and more autonomous. Addie had Ty now and all the other Porters. She didn’t need Celia the way she once had.
Celia pulled into her driveway and dashed across the yard, sobbing the whole way. Inside, she tossed her purse and keys, then went to sit on the edge of her bed. Her upper body curled forward, heels hooked on the bed frame, arms crossed defensively over her midsection.
She cried because Addie’s baby and toddler years were gone and because she’d loved those years. She didn’t expect to ever have another child; she’d always viewed Addie as her one and only. Time had played a dirty trick on her and taken away years that she could never get back and never experience again with another child.
Her lungs gulped air, releasing it in stutters. You’re overreacting, Celia. This is ridiculous!
She wished she’d been able to be a stay-at-home mom for Addie. Wished she’d had more money to buy her things and take her fabulous places. Instead, she’d done the best she could and now wished her best had been better.
She’d blink one time and Addie would be driving off to college and leaving her alone forever. . . .
Knock knock knock.
Celia jerked upright. Terror at being discovered in her current condition sent her scurrying to the mirror above her dresser. She looked a fright—her curls standing on end, her face wet and red, her eyes puffy. Using the backs of her hands, she smoothed the tears from her cheeks.
Knock knock.
Celia peeked out the window overlooking the front yard. A white Mercedes convertible from the ’80s was parked at the curb. Meg’s car.
She would have pretended not to be home for anyone else on the planet. But empathetic, comforting Meg? Celia sniffed repeatedly to clear some of her congestion and opened her front door.
“Hey.” Meg took Celia in, her expression filling instantly with compassion. “Oh no. Are you okay?”
“You caught me in the middle of a crying fit.”
“Sad about Addie’s first day of school?”
Celia nodded.
“That’s why I came. Here.” Meg held two tall cups and handed one to Celia. “Iced lattes. Now give me a hug.” They hugged for half a minute straight. Meg patted her back. “Let’s go sit down so you can tell me about it.”
Celia followed Meg into the living room, taking a long drag through her latte’s straw. Gratitude over Meg’s kindness tempted her to burst into tears again. Breathe, she told herself. Celia Park Porter, like many women who’ve come before, you, too, are going to survive your child’s first day of kindergarten.
They sat on chairs nestled before Celia’s big front window. “So.” Meg tilted her head. She had on a sage green wrap-around top that tied in a bow at the side, crisp shorts, and silver sandals. “Hard morning?”
Celia described getting Addie ready at home, escorting her to her class. “And then she took her place at the table, and you should have seen her, sitting there like a model student. Really, she was ready. She was fine.” Celia slid her fingertips beneath her eyes to clear new tears. “I was the one who came undone after I left.”
Meg’s own eyes
had turned shiny with moisture. “If Bo were here, he’d have tissues. Just a minute.” She hurried into the bathroom and returned with toilet paper. She passed some over and resumed her seat.
Celia dabbed at her eyes, then clutched the toilet paper ball in her lap. “I think I depend on Addie too much, Meg. It’s not fair to her.”
“Listen, I have the same challenge. Growing up, I didn’t have a close-knit family, but now I have Bo. And he’s . . . he’s wonderful.” Her face softened at the mention of her husband. “I love him so much that it’s tempting for me to make him my everything, you know? It’d be easy for me to hang my happiness and my mood, my confidence—all of it—on him.”
“So what do you do?”
“I read my Bible and pray every morning. It centers me. It reminds me that God’s the most important thing in my life.”
Celia didn’t really want to discuss God. Guilt wasn’t an emotion she cared to heap on top of all her other current emotions.
“Of course,” Meg continued, “your situation is different because Addie’s your daughter. I don’t know what that’s like because I don’t have a child.” She paused. “I wish I did.”
Celia had let Meg see her all splotchy and hysterical. Based on the girlfriends’ code of ethics, Celia thought that might qualify her to ask a follow-up question. “Have you guys been trying for a baby?”
“We haven’t done anything to prevent a baby for about a year. Nothing’s happened yet.”
Celia nodded and refrained from mentioning that it had only taken her and Ty one night to conceive Addie. So not helpful.
“Bo and I have time. I don’t want to stress about it. It’s just that I’d really love to have a baby with that man.”
“I’m sure it’ll happen for you.”
“I hope so. God’s already given me a lot: Bo, the Porters, my father’s inheritance. Sometimes I worry that it’s greedy of me to have all that and ask for a baby, too.”
“I think it’s completely normal for you to ask for a child. Of course you want one with Bo.” Celia sipped her icy coffee, savoring its bittersweet milky flavor.