by Jodi Thomas
“You think I’ve kissed a hundred girls?”
Addison almost laughed. “No man kisses like you do without a great deal of practice. I’ve never—” She broke off, not wanting to tell this man any of her private life.
“It won’t happen again,” he said quickly. “You’re right. It never should have happened in the first place.”
“Good,” she managed as she began helping him pick up the clothes. Wanting to get back to the polite strangers they’d been developing, she added, “You did a good job of picking out the kid’s clothes.”
He seemed to understand what she was trying to do. “I don’t have any kids, but on my mother’s side I’m kin to all the Mathesons in town. Which means I get invited to at least one or two birthday parties a month. Lori Anne always used to want to take clothes as gifts…. Of course, since she’s been gone I just send a gift certificate.”
“Lori Anne was your wife?” Somewhere in the back of her mind Addison remembered one of the nurses saying that Tinch Turner’s wife had died of cancer.
“Yeah,” he said, looking away from her. “I bought a phone.” He changed the subject abruptly. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s a way for the sheriff or you to get hold of me if you need me.” He looked at it as if he had no idea how to use the thing. “I’ll try to remember to keep it with me.”
Addison took the small phone from his hand. “If you’ll see how Jamie is doing, I’ll program the sheriff’s number in along with my cell phone. There’s a house phone here still working, but I’m not even sure of the number. All you have to do is push two for me, three for her, and hit the green button.”
While he helped Jamie lace up his new shoes, Addison used her phone to text the sheriff Tinch’s number and add him to her list.
“If ever you need me, just push the button and send.”
“I won’t call unless it’s an emergency.”
“I understand. I’ll be on my way when I pick up.”
Tinch looked at the phone, then at her. She expected him to say something funny, like he now had a doctor on call, but he didn’t.
“Thanks.” He met her gaze for the first time since the kiss. “I’ll do my best to keep up with this.”
Tinch knelt down to the boy’s level. “We’re going next door to my place to work for a while. No matter what’s going on, the horses need to be fed.”
Jamie shook his head. “I don’t want to leave my angel. Can she come too?”
Tinch looked up at Addison without smiling. “She can if she wants to, and so can the kittens, but I’m sure the doc’s got lots to do.”
“I usually go in and work on paperwork on my day off.” She had no idea if she was helping or hurting his plans. “But I might come back from town around lunchtime and bring you two a box of tacos.”
Tinch frowned, and she guessed she’d said the wrong thing. He’d probably hoped for a day without her.
Jamie slipped his hand into hers and smiled. “I don’t like onions, or lettuce, or tomatoes on mine.”
“Got it.” She turned to Tinch. “How do you like yours?”
One look told her he wasn’t thinking about lunch. He took a deep breath and said in a low voice, “Any way at all is fine.”
Chapter 19
REAGAN SPENT THE MORNING MOVING FOSTER AND HIS wife into their new home. She could have thought of no better use for the little house her uncle owned in town than to give it to the two people who’d stood beside her all during his illness. Foster was a good nurse and he’d find other work, but for now, at least, he and his wife wouldn’t have to worry about a roof over their heads.
Midafternoon, she drove back to Jeremiah’s little farm on Lone Oak Road. Only it wasn’t his anymore. It was hers. It had been for a long time, but as long as her uncle was alive she always thought of it being his even if he had put her name on the deed. Jeremiah had slowed down last year, but he never stopped working in the orchards. He had one old stand of trees near the border to the Matheson place and another a few hundred yards behind the house. The second one he’d started for her, and it would bear fruit next fall. He’d also overseen the building of a new barn to hold the equipment Reagan wanted to help in the packing and shipping of apples. Their apples were perfect for making jam and pies. She planned to sell their crop to small-time canning houses within a few hundred miles, until someday she’d be shipping across the states.
As she drove home, she thought of her uncle and how everything he’d done since the day she stumbled onto his place had been to ready her to be able to take over.
Even the business degree she was working on, he’d suggested so she could read and understand legal papers. “Never let anyone handle your books,” he’d said. “Always write your own checks.”
When she reached the house, she noticed Noah’s truck was back, but Big was probably still at work. She’d put them down the hall from her, since they’d both decided to keep her company for a while. To her surprise they’d gone to bed without a fight. Knowing they both were near helped her sleep, though she couldn’t imagine enduring Noah’s suggestion that they all three sleep in the same bed.
After checking on the work going on in the new barn, she walked through a stand of elm toward the house and found Noah asleep in the hammock. For a man who rode lightning for a living, he sure needed his sleep. When she touched his boot, he raised his hat. “Afternoon,” he said, as if they were just passing strangers. “Did you get everything taken care of, Rea?”
“I think so. The funeral home was my last stop. I just wanted to thank Mr. Wright, but he’d given his housekeeper a ride to her doctor’s visit. The bookkeeper at the funeral home told me their little housekeeper is going to pop any day now.”
“Where’s the father of the baby-to-be?” Noah didn’t sound very interested. “I know he was some bum of a guy who tried to kill Biggs during the last tornado that blew through here, but where is the bum now?”
“You’re not keeping up.” She slapped his boot. “The guy is doing twenty in Huntsville. Seems the law doesn’t like a man breaking into a funeral home to kidnap his ex-girlfriend and shooting a fireman, even a volunteer one, along the way.”
“Tell me, Rea, does Big have a scar across his chest from that bullet he took?”
“I don’t know,” Reagan answered, just as she figured out why Noah would ask. She’d never seen Big without a T-shirt.
“That’s good news, at least,” he answered with a smile.
She thought she smelled whiskey on his breath but didn’t want to think about the possibility that he might have spent the afternoon drinking with one of his cousins.
“How about you swing with me, Rea? Come here.” He tugged her onto the hammock.
Reagan pushed away, fighting him as she tried to get her balance.
Noah lifted his hands. “Okay, okay, I won’t touch you. Just lie next to me and enjoy the silence. It’s beautiful leaning back and looking at autumn drift down. I promise I won’t touch you till you figure out you like me again.”
She settled. “You can’t just disappear and come back and expect everything to pick up like it was the day you left. Half the time, when you don’t call after a ride, I think you’re somewhere dead in the dirt. Caring about you wears me out, and you don’t even know about it. I can’t even watch you on TV. I think, what if you fell and got hurt. I wouldn’t be close enough to help.”
“I know.” He pushed with one foot and made the hammock swing. When it did, their shoulders bumped. “I guess I just think nothing ever changes around here. The way I feel about you doesn’t change either.” He was silent for a while, then said, “I am really sorry about your uncle. Sadness stays raw for a while, but it’ll ease eventually.”
“It was his time.” She didn’t want to think about the pain; she was struggling to keep from falling apart. The entire world seemed off balance without her uncle. She knew it was time to start trying to pull herself back together, but she wasn’t sure where to stand to make it happen.
“What you going to do with the place?” Noah broke the silence.
Reagan turned to look at him, surprised he’d even ask. “I’m going to live here. We’ve got the harvest in full production, and as soon as it’s finished, I’ll need to get the trees ready for winter.” Her mind began to plan her days in order of what had to be done. “I’ll have to hire more help, but I can manage.”
He didn’t comment for a long time, then said, “I’m glad you’re going to stay. Your roots run deep here.”
“Don’t yours?” she asked. He was a real McAllen. She was only a make-believe Truman. His great-grandfather had started it all. The town, the ranch, the family.
Noah shook his head. “I don’t know anymore. This town, even my place that Dad deeded to me, feels like a part of my past. Like it belongs to a me I used to be. The longer I’m away, the less of a part of my life it becomes. I got to stay out on tour to keep my ranking, so even if I did get homesick, I couldn’t come back often.”
He was frightening Reagan. He’d always had this dream to make it big in rodeo, but she thought he’d eventually give it up and come home. Noah had been her best friend. He was the first boy she really kissed. He was the only one she thought about spending the rest of her life with.
Only right now, she wasn’t sure she knew the man he had become. She wasn’t sure she even liked the man he was now. This Noah was in some kind of grand parade, and all he seemed to be seeing was the gutter below. She knew he was pulling in big winnings from the rides but wondered how much of that money, if any, he’d put away.
She put her hand in his. Somewhere, the old Noah was still there. She had to believe that.
Big’s huge pickup turned down the driveway, and Noah helped Reagan out of the hammock. They met him at his truck.
The construction worker climbed out and nodded toward Noah. “Have a good day doing nothing, cowboy?”
“Great.” Noah smiled. “It’s hard work figuring out how to work doing nothing into a schedule.”
“Don’t suppose you cooked dinner?”
“Nope. I was hoping you would bring bags of food home, since Reagan’s been working in town all day. One of us should have been thoughtful and picked up takeout on his way home.”
It was Big’s turn to smile. “I got a better idea; if Reagan wants to, we could go down to Buffalo’s. There won’t be anyone much there. My brother and Beau are practicing a few new songs. We could listen to them while we eat.”
“I could warm up some leftovers.” Reagan frowned at her own suggestion. “You wouldn’t believe all the food that was delivered last week after the funeral.”
Both men turned toward the truck.
Reagan gave in. She didn’t want leftovers either.
Thirty minutes later they were at a corner table at Buffalo’s. Or rather Big and Reagan were; Noah was at the bar talking, as every man who walked in the place insisted on buying him a drink.
“He’s a hero,” Reagan said as she lifted her glass to Noah’s back.
“I guess, though it don’t seem so heroic just to ride a bull.” Big didn’t look in Noah’s direction. “Think they may have bravery mixed up with stupidity.”
She took a bite of her fries. “You may be right. I think he’s been working on pickling what sense he has left all day. I noticed several empty beer cans scattered around the house, and a whiskey bottle was on the counter in the kitchen.”
They ate and listened to Beau play songs he’d written that were deep and moving. For the first time in more than a week, Reagan forgot her troubles and just listened. She noticed that several people came in to do the same. They sat close to the dance floor and watched the kid on a little stage behind chicken wire play song after song.
A half dozen nursing students, who must have just finished a shift, and several men who looked like they worked with Big on construction crews also wandered in. Big might have talked them into coming in, but they stayed to listen.
When Noah didn’t circle back to the table, Big ate the cowboy’s basket of wings and fries.
“He won’t be happy when he sees the empty basket.” Reagan giggled.
“He’ll be too drunk to notice. I’ve been watching him. I’m surprised he’s still standing.”
After a few more songs, Reagan was ready to go, but she didn’t want to hurry Big. He was so proud of his little brother.
Then she noticed he was watching the crowd and not the band. Correction, she thought, not the crowd, Big was concentrating on one table of nurses.
People were starting to dance to the slow, beautiful music. All except one of the nurses had moved to the dance floor. The one stood out from the others. She had to be more than six feet tall, and though built in proportion, she seemed huge among the smaller women. Not fat, really, just big. Reagan thought she was pretty enough to be one of those plus-size models, but the uniform wasn’t very flattering on her.
“She’s pretty,” Reagan whispered to Big, knowing he’d already noticed.
“I guess so. I’ve been watching, and no one asks her to dance. Probably because she’s a head taller than any of these jerks.” Big didn’t take his gaze off the nurse. “I don’t like that she’s getting her feelings hurt. Every time another girl leaves the table she looks down like she was wishing she could vanish.”
Reagan didn’t like seeing the nurse forgotten either. “Why don’t you ask her?”
“I don’t know how to dance.”
“She won’t care. Just move slowly from one foot to the other. The important thing is that someone asks her to dance. Are you more worried about embarrassing yourself or about her feelings?”
Big swore. “I don’t give a damn about what anyone thinks of me.”
“I know.” Reagan laughed. “That’s what makes you so darn lovable. Now go over there and help the poor woman out.”
He nodded and slid out of the booth, then walked right over to the table that was empty except for one very pretty nurse, and offered his hand.
Reagan wasn’t sure he said a word, but the girl took his hand and stood. They moved to the dance floor, and Big hadn’t lied. He didn’t know the first thing about dancing, but the nurse didn’t seem to care. She smiled up at him and moved back and forth.
A few minutes later, when Noah sat down beside Reagan, he was well on his way to being blind drunk. He didn’t seem to notice that he hadn’t been the one to eat his dinner. He just swigged a longneck and watched the dance floor. “Is that Big dancing?” He squinted. “I’ll be damned.”
Anger sparked in Reagan. “At least he’s sober. Which is more than I can say for you.” She’d always hated it when Noah drank. He said things he didn’t mean, then passed it off on the whiskey, like some alien took over his body after so many drinks and everyone should forgive him, or better yet feel sorry for him.
Noah looked at her with one raised eyebrow. “Did I sit down at the wrong table? What did you do with my friend Rea?”
“Shut up,” she said. “Nothing’s wrong with me. It’s you, Noah. You’re not the same. I want my Noah back. I want the Noah I love. The boy full of dreams. The guy who cared about this town and everyone in it.”
He looked like she’d slapped him. “The boy grew up. He didn’t stay around here like some people and refuse to change.”
“I want the Noah I knew and trusted.” She glared at him as if somewhere behind the bloodshot eyes her Noah were still there.
“I’m right here waiting, Rea. Waiting, as always, for you to grow up. How long you think it’ll be? You need to live another twenty years before we can act like two adults, or are you planning on being a virgin all your life?”
“I’m not the one wandering all over the country drinking and sleeping with every girl in every town I pass.”
“No.” Noah lowered his voice to a deadly level. “You’re the woman who won’t let anyone, even someone who loves her, touch her. Every time I look at you, I hate the fact that you let something that happened when you were a kid co
me between us. You always have, and I can only wait so long for you to get over whatever it was. You’re the farmer, what is it they say about fruit left on the vine?”
She slapped him so hard everyone in the bar turned.
Big whispered something to his dance partner and stormed toward them. As far as he was concerned, whatever happened was entirely the cowboy’s fault.
Reagan stepped into his path before he could beat the hell out of Noah. “Take me home,” she said. Tears bubbled down her cheeks. “Please.”
He gave Noah a kill-you-later look and walked out with her.
They didn’t say a word when they got back to the farm. Big had never asked questions. He was her friend, without needing reasons.
She went straight to her room and paced to keep from crying. She felt like she’d cried a lifetime’s limit of tears. The house was quiet except for Big moving around his room down the hall. She knew Noah wouldn’t be coming back tonight. Maybe not for a long time. Reagan wasn’t even sure how the fight started. She wasn’t in a good mood. He was drunk. Who knew. Who cared.
She stripped and climbed into her old flannel pajamas and fuzzy red socks. It wasn’t that cold outside, but she felt like her insides were freezing.
Even though she turned on every light in the room, the whole world seemed to be growing darker and the air thinning. Maybe she was having a nervous breakdown, or a heart attack. The possibility that Noah might have been right about her not growing up wasn’t something she could accept. She was the mature one. She was the sober one. Just because she didn’t want to jump into bed with him didn’t mean she didn’t love him. She liked kissing him. Someday she’d like making love to him too. But she didn’t know how to start over every time he came home. She didn’t know how to jump into the loving part.