Two months. Two damn months he’d been trying to get close to Blaire again. Two damn months of excuses, of lost messages, of unreturned phone calls.
He had called her the day after they spent the night together to make sure she was all right, since she’d thought she might be coming down with something. She’d said she was fine, nothing a good night’s sleep hadn’t been able to take care of. She’d sounded fine, as far as that went. Until he’d asked to see her again.
The excuses had started with that first morning-after phone call. Her cousin in Ponca City was sick and Blaire was going up there for the weekend to help her out.
She couldn’t go out the next week because she and her mother were spending the weekend in Oklahoma City doing last-minute Christmas shopping.
She couldn’t go out the next week because she was going to spend the whole week with her grandmother down in Ardmore so the woman wouldn’t be alone over the holidays.
After that, her father had a bad case of the flu, so she had to help take up the slack at the feed store, and help her mother take care of her father.
When her father got well, her mother came down with it.
When her mother got well, Blaire came down with it.
Justin had to admit that as excuses went, she had some good ones. But they’d spent the night together in early December. It was now the first week of February. He was starting to get the message. It was finally coming in loud and clear. The woman wanted nothing more to do with him.
He wondered what it said about him that it took him two months for it to finally sink in, but he wasn’t used to rejection. It hadn’t happened often enough for him to easily recognize it.
And dammit, it stung, being rejected. He couldn’t say he cared for it.
“Whasa matter, Uncle Justin?” Six-year-old Libby, his brother Sloan’s new stepdaughter, leaned against the jamb of his open door. “You look all sad.”
“Who, me?” He clipped his cell phone back to his belt and stood up. “Naw, not me.”
Libby bounced into the room and straightened the bedspread he’d just been sitting on.
“Thanks, sweets.”
“You’re welcome.”
“What are you doing up here? I thought you guys were watching TV.”
“We are.” When she smiled, her whole face beamed. “Daddy’s making popcorn. Mama said to let you know so you could have some, too, if you wanted.”
“If I wanted? Of course I want. Let’s go.”
It still gave him a hell of a kick to hear Libby or Janie call his oldest brother Daddy. It probably tickled him almost as much as it tickled Sloan to have the new title.
Everybody around him was getting married, he thought as he followed Libby downstairs to the living room. First Sloan and Emily last summer, then his middle brother Caleb and Melanie, their nearest neighbor and lifelong friend.
Caleb and Melanie lived at her family ranch, Pruitt Ranch, over on the next section. Caleb had been there since their wedding back in December. It was the first time that all three Chisholm brothers had not lived under the same roof since the day they were born. It seemed odd.
But that in no way meant the house was quieter due to Caleb’s absence, Justin thought with a silent chuckle as he rounded the corner into the mayhem of the kitchen. Emily and her two daughters—all three with blond hair and blue eyes, amid a houseful of black-haired, dark-eyed Indians—more than made up for Caleb’s absence.
Especially since Emily liked to cook, and Caleb hadn’t.
And Emily would box his ears if he ever said such a thing out loud. That is, if Grandmother didn’t get to him first.
“There you two are.” Emily wiped her hands on the dish towel wrapped around her waist. “We were wondering what was keeping you. Is that popcorn almost ready?” she added to Sloan, who manned the microwave.
“Just relax,” Sloan said over the popping of the corn inside the microwave. “Some things can’t be rushed.”
“Oh, aren’t you funny.” Behind his back, Emily made a comical face at him.
Janie and Libby burst into giggles.
Emily darted them a look and placed a finger over her lips, asking for their silence.
“Counting down,” Sloan said.
The two little girls snuggled up on each side of him and counted down with the numbers on the microwave panel.
“Six, five, four, three, two, one. Ding!”
“Okay, that’s one. Here’s bag number two.” Emily tossed a second package of unpopped corn to Sloan.
Snack time—assembly style—on the Cherokee Rose.
Watching Sloan with his new family brought an ache to Justin’s belly that stunned him, dismayed him. Was there a part of him that wanted to get married and start a family of his own?
The idea wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, and it wasn’t as if the word marriage hadn’t popped into his head a number of times in the past several months, but always in regard to his brothers, never to himself. He was only twenty-eight, for cripes sake. He didn’t need to get in any hurry about it.
But whenever he saw what his brothers had, he got this funny emptiness, as if some part of him wasn’t yet finished.
A couple of months ago he’d thought maybe that had something to do with Blaire Harding.
Since she now wanted nothing to do with him, he figured if she did have anything to do with that empty spot inside him, it was going to stay empty for a long damn time.
“What’s with you these days, kid?”
Justin glanced around the room and realized he and Sloan were alone in the kitchen. He must have spaced out for quite a while, lost in his own thoughts, not to have noticed that Emily and the kids had gone back to the living room. Sloan leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, one stockinged foot crossed over the other one. His gaze was like a laser, zeroing in on Justin with deep intensity.
“You’ve been moping around the place for days, maybe weeks, and that’s not like you. Wanna talk about it?”
Justin stuffed his fingers into his hip pockets. “Nope.”
One of Sloan’s eyebrows hitched up his forehead. “Nope?”
“That’s right. Nope.”
“Fine by me.” Sloan shrugged. “Just be aware that if you don’t talk to me about whatever it is that’s bugging you, Grandmother or Emily or both of them are going to be after you. They’re worried about you.”
Justin frowned. “What are they worried about? I’m here, I’m eating and sleeping just fine, I’m doing my work, pulling my weight. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal,” Sloan said, pulling away from the counter to stand on both feet, “is that while you’re doing all of those normal, everyday things, you’re moping.”
“Moping?”
“And you’re starting to sound like a parrot.”
“Parrot?”
Sloan’s lips twitched. “Come on, give me something to tell them, or I’ll make something up.”
“Oh, yeah?” This should be good. “Go ahead, big guy, make something up.”
“Okay, I’ll tell them you’re pining away for a woman.”
Justin ran his tongue over his teeth. “A woman.”
“Sure. Why else would a fun-loving guy like you start looking all hangdog, like you just lost your best friend?”
“Is that the best you can do?”
“I suppose I could tell them you’ve got hemorrhoids.”
Justin whooped with laughter. God, he loved this brother of his.
“What’s all the noise in there?” their grandmother called. “You two are missing the movie.”
Justin slung an arm over his big brother’s shoulder. “We’re coming, Grandmother, oh love of my life.”
Rose Chisholm made a snorting noise. “If I’m the love of your life, no wonder you’ve been moping around the place for weeks.”
“Oh, but Grandmother!” Justin leaned over her recliner, bracing himself on the arms of the chair, and planted a wet, sloppy
kiss on her cheek. “You are my sunshine. The light of my life. My reason for being. You’re the jam in my jelly roll.”
Libby and Janie giggled, while Rose tried to shoo him away like he was a pesky fly.
“Get on with you,” she said, her lips twitching.
“But Grandmother, I love you. Let me count the ways.”
“I’ll count your ways, young man. Sit down and hush up. Cruella’s about to get her hands on the puppies.”
Justin had casually claimed to Sloan that he was sleeping fine. At one o’clock that morning he kicked back the covers, realizing that, for this night at least, he’d lied.
Grandmother swore by warm milk. He didn’t think he could choke down warm milk, but a glass of cold might help. He stepped into his jeans and pulled on a flannel shirt against the nighttime chill of the house, and against the off chance of running into a female.
The place was crawling with females these days. His grandmother had always been there, of course. She had raised him and his brothers since their parents died when Justin was a baby. But no other female had lived under their roof until Sloan brought Emily home with him.
Then there was Emily, and her two little girls.
A couple of months ago, they’d added Maria and baby Rosa to the mix. They and Maria’s husband, Pedro, were living in the spare room downstairs, where Justin had moved when he gave his room upstairs over to the girls. Then Caleb had left, so Justin moved back upstairs and Maria, Pedro and Rosa moved in.
Musical bedrooms. But lots of females, and Justin liked it that way, even if it did mean he had to make sure he was dressed before he dared step out of his room or even open his door. A small price to pay, he knew, for the company of so many lovely women.
Who needed one specific, special woman, he told himself as he crept down the stairs in the dark, when he was surrounded at home by so many very special ladies?
One of whom he scared the fire out of when he rounded the corner into the kitchen and spoke.
“Emily?”
“Oh! God! Justin. You took ten years off my life.”
“I’m sorry. What are you doing sneaking around down here in the dark in the middle of the night?”
“Shh,” she said putting a finger to her lips. She turned on the small light over the stove. “You’ll wake Rosa and her parents.” Their room was down a short hall off the back of the kitchen. “And I could ask you the same question.”
“I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d give a glass of milk a try. But I would have turned on the light once I got here. You didn’t. That’s why I didn’t know you were here, which is why I was so quiet, so I wouldn’t wake anybody up, when you were already awake and sneaking around—”
“Justin.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve never heard you ramble before.”
Justin took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m not sure I’ve ever done it before. I don’t know why I did this time.”
“Maybe so I wouldn’t ask you the inevitable question,” she said gently. She turned away and took the milk out of the fridge and poured them each a glass.
“Thanks.” He took a glass from her, then pulled a chair away from the table for her.
She took her seat, then he took his.
“You’re not going to ask me what question I’m talking about?” she asked.
Justin sipped his milk, then used his forefinger to wipe his upper lip. “A lot of questions are inevitable. I’m sure you’ll come up with one.”
“I’m sorry. I’m prying.”
“Oh, no.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. Emily, I love it that you care enough about me to worry. I just don’t like to see you worry, because there’s nothing to worry about.”
She gave his hand a return squeeze. “Justin, how long have I lived in this house with you and your family?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Seven or eight months.”
“That’s right. Now, don’t you think during that time I’ve come to know you pretty well?”
“Okay, I can see where this is going. Yes, you know me pretty well.”
“Which means I can tell when you’re not quite yourself. And Justin? You haven’t been yourself for several weeks. I just want you to know that one of the perks of having a sister-in-law, especially one who lives in the same house with you, is that you can dump your troubles on her, and she’ll listen. She might even be able to give you the female take on things.”
“The female take on things?”
“Yes. You know what I mean. Let’s say a man and a woman are driving down the road and up ahead they see a nice restaurant. The woman says, ‘Oh, look. Do you want to stop there for dinner?’ The man thinks about it a minute, then says, ‘No.’ The woman gets her feelings hurt and sulks all night, then the man gets mad at her sulking, and before the night’s over, they have a whopping big fight, and neither of them has a clue what went wrong.”
Justin took another swallow of milk, thinking he was going to enjoy this late night interlude. Emily was so earnest in her effort to help him. He couldn’t wait to see what she came up with.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll bite. What went wrong? Seems to me she was too sensitive, getting her feelings hurt over a restaurant.”
“Well, yes and no. You see, when a woman asks if you want to eat somewhere in particular, or go to a specific place, or see a certain movie, she’s not simply asking your opinion. What she’s really saying is, ‘I’d like to eat at that restaurant. How about it?’Or ‘I’d like to see this movie. Will you take me?’”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Yes, but that’s not what a man hears. A man hears the words she uses, and not the underlying meaning. He hears a question that asks his opinion, and he gives his opinion.”
“So why doesn’t the woman say she wants to eat at that place instead of asking him if he wants to?”
“Because even in the twenty-first century, little girls are still taught not to put themselves and their wants forward. That they’re supposed to cater to everyone else’s wishes before their own. If someone else wants to see a movie you don’t care for, you go see it anyway. Particularly if it’s your date. If you don’t like the movie he picks, he might think that means you don’t like him.”
“Well, that’s just plain stupid.”
“You’re telling me.”
“Why do parents teach little girls to be submissive like that?”
“Because that’s how they were raised, I guess. But they’ve done studies, too, on young children going to school for the first time, and inevitably the girls are quiet and calm and the boys are loud and aggressive, demanding the teacher’s attention. Maybe some of it’s genetic—God forbid and cut out my tongue for even saying it.”
Justin chuckled. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Anyway.” She waved away the idea. “My point was—”
He grinned at her. “You had a point?”
She gave him a mock scowl. “My point in all this is that sometimes great big problems, or what seem like great big problems, can stem from the smallest misunderstanding simply because men and women use language differently.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“Take that one step further, and keep in mind that I’m a woman.”
“Oh, honey, I know you are.”
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I mean, I can give you the female perspective on a situation, should you happen to need it.”
“I appreciate it. I really do.”
“And if none of this is to the point,” she said, her lips twitching. “If you really don’t have woman trouble, there’s a tube of Preparation H in the bathroom medicine chest upstairs.”
Justin lowered his head to the table and groaned. “Do you think Grandmother would notice if Sloan just disappeared? I could tie bricks around his neck and stuff him in the pond. That’d work.”
Emily laughed softly in the dim lig
ht. “Stubborn, stubborn man. You’re not going to tell me what’s bothering you, are you?”
“Thank you,” he said, “for asking. For caring. You’re right, it’s a woman, but she doesn’t want anything to do with me, so that’s the end of that.”
“Who is it?”
Justin shook his head. “My lips are sealed.”
“Good for you. You get extra points for that.”
“I do?”
“You do. What makes you think she doesn’t want anything to do with you?”
Justin gave her a wry smile. “She won’t take my calls, won’t return my calls. When she sees me coming she heads the other way.”
Emily frowned. “What does she say when you ask her about all this?”
“Say?” he cried. “She doesn’t say anything, because I can’t get near her.”
“And you like this woman?”
Justin chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, yeah. I really like her. And that’s the thing, Emily. When we were together, I know she felt the same way. We were damn near perfect together.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow is right,” he said. “Then, poof. It’s all over, no word, no explanation, no nothing.”
“Wait a minute. She broke it off with you without saying anything?”
“Without one stinking word,” he said with disgust.
Emily reached across the table and placed her hand over the back of his. “Justin, if she hasn’t got the guts to tell you face-to-face that she doesn’t want to see you anymore, then she’s not good enough for you.”
“Ah, come on—”
“No, you come on. Think about it. Do you really want to tie yourself, even temporarily, to a woman who may or may not have a legitimate complaint against you, but who’ll never tell you?”
To this woman, Justin thought, yes. Yes, he did. He thought.
“She’s either too shy, too scared, or too self-centered to consider your side of things. Or, and believe me, I hate to say this, she simply doesn’t care what you think or how you feel.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe that. Not of her. She’s not like that.”
“She’s not? Or you don’t want her to be?” Emily asked gently.
The Cowboy on Her Trail Page 2