Rough Creek

by Kaki Warner

  “Let’s go to the hardware store first,” Raney suggested. “By the way, when is Timmy’s birthday?”

  “Today.”

  She gave him another look. This one was indignant. “That’s today? Waiting kind of late, aren’t you?”

  “I forgot until my mother mentioned it yesterday.” Dalton parked in front of Ace Hardware and opened his door. “Let’s see what they’ve got.”

  The store had exactly what they wanted: a leather tool belt with several pouches and hangers to hold Timmy’s new hammer, screwdrivers, pliers, wrenches, etc., and a red toolbox with a lock and removable tray for smaller items. Raney also found silver stick-on letters, but since Tim Cardwell was too long to fit, she settled for his initials. After Dalton added a pair of red suspenders to help hold up the belt, they went to the drugstore for gift bags.

  Dalton found a card for his brother, then followed Raney around while she filled a basket from a long list. He never realized women needed so much makeup to make it look like they didn’t wear any makeup at all. Another stop at the dry cleaner’s, then Dalton decided that while Raney had her hair cut, he’d get a fill-up and an oil change in case he had to drive her to Lubbock. He sure as hell wasn’t going to sit and wait on her in a beauty salon.

  “Give me an hour,” she said as they put the packages and dry cleaning in the truck. “Then meet me at the diner. Burger and iced tea.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Marlene was the owner-operator of the town’s only beauty parlor and had been doing haircuts and manicures for the Whitcomb women forever. She was also the biggest gossip in Rough Creek, but not in a malicious way. Mostly she kept her patrons informed of the latest news—50 percent of which might actually be true.

  “How’s Joss doing?” she asked as she shampooed Raney’s hair. “Heard she was at the hospital in Lubbock with her baby’s daddy. Think they’ll get married?”

  News sure traveled fast in Rough Creek. “He’s asked, but so far, Joss hasn’t accepted. We’re hoping she will. He’s a nice guy.”

  “Hmmm,” said a woman wearing a foil cap and sitting in a nearby chair. A retired teacher named Ruthie and a busybody if there ever was one. Raney reminded herself to watch her words or before the week was over, she’d hear five different versions of everything she’d said.

  A few minutes later, Marlene wrapped a towel around Raney’s wet head and moved her to a worn barber chair. As she put on the drape and adjusted the height, she studied Raney in the mirror. “Is it true Dalton Cardwell is working at your ranch? I hear he changed a lot in prison. How much do you want trimmed?”

  “An inch. No bangs.”

  In the chair beside Raney and Marlene, Helen Foster, an elderly lady with wads of cotton between her freshly manicured toes, said, “Suze Anderson told me he’s put on a lot of weight and muscle. Got into a fight out at the Roadhouse and put three men in the hospital. They ought to shut that place down.”

  “Hmmm,” Ruthie said from her chair across the room. “’Roid rage.”

  “Actually, he only sent the two men who started the fight to the hospital,” Raney corrected. “And he doesn’t take steroids.” Was this what Dalton had to face every time he came to town?

  “Your mama know you’ve got an ex-con working out there?” Marlene asked.

  “Of course she does. She’s the one who hired him.”

  None of the ladies responded to that. No one questioned Mama or cast doubt on her decisions. Four Star—and by extension, her mother—spent a great deal of money in Rough Creek, and that carried a lot of sway with the townsfolk, especially struggling shop owners like Marlene.

  “Heard his family up and moved to Plainview,” Helen Foster said. “Was it because of his arrest, do you think?”

  “Probably ashamed,” Ruthie muttered.

  “It had nothing to do with their son,” Raney assured them. “They moved to Plainview because they were tired of working their ranch and sold it.” Hoping to shift the talk away from Dalton and his family before she really gave Ruthie something to talk about, Raney threw out a tidbit of her own. “Did you hear that Bertie Barton eloped to Las Vegas and is moving to Oklahoma?”

  Three shocked faces turned her way.

  Marlene recovered first. “Who did she marry?”

  “A veterinarian named Phil. They worked at the same clinic in Fort Worth.”

  “What’d her mama have to say about that?” Ruthie wanted to know.

  “I haven’t talked to her. I just heard about it.”

  “I’m sure she’s disappointed,” Helen said. “Poor thing just had her knee replaced, you know.”

  “It was her hip,” Raney corrected.

  Which opened up a long and lively discussion about hips, knees, arthritic hands, and all sorts of postmenopausal female ailments Raney didn’t want to know about, so she let her mind drift until Ruthie said, “Speak of the devil.”

  Raney followed her gaze out the grimy front window and saw Dalton standing on the sidewalk across the street, talking to Karla Jenkins.

  “Is that the Cardwell boy?” Helen asked, squinting in Dalton’s direction. “Goodness gracious. He certainly has changed. How’d he get so big?”

  Ruthie sniffed. “Supplements. They take all kinds of things in prison.”

  “Dalton Cardwell didn’t take supplements,” Raney snapped. “Or anything. He just worked out a lot.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Isn’t that the Jenkins girl with him?” Helen asked.

  Marlene nodded. “Karla. They were an item before he went to prison. Head straight, Raney. I’m almost done.”

  Raney stared at her reflection in the mirror, her mind eaten up with curiosity, her ears perked to the talk going on around her.

  “Looks like they still might be,” Ruthie observed. “The way she’s clinging to his arm. She better watch out. I’ve read about ’roid rage.”

  He doesn’t take steroids! Raney almost shouted.

  “Heard she sent him a Dear John letter while he was in prison,” Marlene said, turning the chair enough that Raney could see what was going on across the street without moving her head.

  “Not surprising,” Helen said. “Him being a convict and all.”

  They didn’t look that chummy to Raney. In fact, Dalton seemed to be leaning away from Karla, despite her hold on his arm.

  “They do make a handsome couple, though,” Helen observed. “Hard to believe they called him Beanpole in school.”

  Across the street, Dalton and Karla separated, Dalton walking on toward the diner, Karla staring after him for a few moments, then turning and heading in the opposite direction.

  Raney didn’t know what to make of it and wondered if this angry, unsettled churn in her stomach was what Dalton had felt when he’d seen her talking to Trip at the Roadhouse.

  * * *

  * * *

  Dalton had just given Suze their orders when Raney walked in. Her hair didn’t look much different, but her face sure did. She was upset, and the way her eyes homed in on him, he figured he was the reason she was. What had he done now?

  Karla. She must have seen him talking to Karla. Shit.

  “Hey,” he said as she slid into the booth across from him. “Your hair looks great.”

  No reaction, other than to ask if he’d ordered already.

  “Suze just put it in.” Then realizing she was going to shut him out if he didn’t fess up, he said, “Guess who I just ran into.”

  “Karla Jenkins. I saw you through the salon window. She has her nerve.”

  Dalton gave her a questioning look.

  “It was a tacky thing to do, writing you a Dear John letter in prison.”

  Hell. Did everybody in town know about that? “She was moving to Fort Worth anyway.”

  “How did that work out for her?”

 
; “Apparently, not well.”

  “So now she’s moving back?”

  “Appears so.”

  Suze brought their burgers and drinks. Dalton waited until she left, then said, “You answered my questions about the douche. I guess turnabout is fair play.”

  Raney studied him in silence as she ate three of his fries.

  Dalton couldn’t read her expression. That surprised him and made him nervous. He thought he knew all of her “looks.” Yet, watching her now, he doubted he would ever fully understand how her mind worked. She was a complicated woman. Which was one of the reasons he loved her. And the most important thing he’d learned about her was that she was as committed to honesty as he was . . . except for that one notable exception that could still send him bolting upright in the middle of the night, choking on fear and regret.

  “Go ahead,” he prodded, breaking the long silence, “ask your questions.”

  “There’s only one.” She took another fry. “Do you still care about her?”

  “As a friend. That’s all. And I never cared for her the way I care for you.”

  She ate two more fries, then nodded. “Good enough for me. You done with the ketchup?”

  Dalton almost sagged in relief. If they hadn’t been in public, he would have leaned over the table and kissed her. The depth of his reaction made him realize how involved he’d become. Which was disconcerting. Over the last few years, he’d kept a large part of himself closed off. In combat and later, in prison, he had pushed emotion, expectation, even hope aside. But now, with Raney, anything was possible. It was like starting all over again.

  “Can I tell you now that I love you?” he asked.

  “Not yet.” She reached over and brushed something from the corner of his mouth. For a moment, her fingers lingered like she wanted to lean in and give him the kiss he’d denied himself a moment ago. Then she took her hand away and stole another fry from his plate. “But soon.”

  Not the answer he’d hoped for. Pushing down his disappointment, he took a bite of burger, chewed, and swallowed. “You wouldn’t have to say it back.”

  “I know. But when I do, I want to be sure. Those aren’t just words to me, Dalton. They’re a lifetime commitment.”

  “No room for doubt?”

  “None.” She tipped her head to the side and studied him, a tiny smile playing along her beautiful mouth. “Does that scare you?”

  “That you won’t admit yet that you adore me beyond reason?” He took another bite. “I’ll manage.”

  “Some people fear promises and obligations. I hope you’re not one of them.”

  He wanted to tell her just how far he’d go to keep the promises he’d made, but of course, he couldn’t. Instead, he tried to put into words how he felt about her and his hopes of building a future with her by his side.

  “The way I see it, Raney,” he said between fries, “throughout a lifetime, there’s only one thing a person has complete control over. His—or her—word. Plans fail, buddies die, shit happens. But if you make a promise and keep it, you’re solid. Nothing else matters. You can do no better.”

  He finished his burger and what few fries she’d left him, then pushed the plate aside. Crossing his arms on the tabletop, he leaned forward, hoping she could see the truth of what he was about to say in his eyes and hear it in his voice. “My promise to you, Raney Whitcomb—whether or not you want to hear it yet, or whether you ever say the words back to me—is that I love you. I’m committed to you and to making this work, no matter what it takes. Or how long.”

  He sat back and put on a smile. “Now, finish your burger before it gets cold.”

  She looked at him, her eyes misty, her lips pressed in a tight smile.

  Horrified she might cry, he put on a bigger smile. “Or, I could finish it for you, if you’d like. Since you ate most of my fries.”

  “Oh, Dalton . . .” She started to say something more, then flinched when her phone buzzed. Blinking hard, she pulled it out of her purse, checked the caller ID, and accepted the call. “What’s happening?” she said.

  She listened for a few moments, a multitude of emotions flicking across her expressive face. “Thank God.” A pause. “To the house? Why not meet us at the hospital?” Another pause, then she said, “Okay,” punched out, and put the phone back into her purse.

  “You can have my burger,” she said. “But eat fast. The planets are aligning. Len is on the way to the hospital, her husband, Ryan, is meeting us there, and Joss just went into labor.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “Why won’t they talk?” Coralee complained. “I thought when we moved over here, they might start talking. But they’re just sitting there.”

  “She’s fretting,” Len said. “Raney always fusses with her nails when she’s upset. I wonder what’s keeping Ryan?”

  “She worries too much.”

  “You should have seen her last night.” Len smiled. “I bet she hasn’t laughed that hard in a long time. I sure haven’t.”

  “He’s good for her. I wish she’d figure that out.” Tipping her head toward her oldest daughter, Coralee put a hand to her mouth and lowered her voice. “I was hoping when I had him move into the house while I was gone it might move things along, if you know what I mean.”

  “Isn’t that called pimping?”

  “Hush that talk.” Coralee thought for a moment, then tipped her head again. “Maybe we should send them somewhere. Nothing’s going to happen with us watching.”

  “It’s a hospital waiting room. What do you expect to happen?”

  “I expect Joss to get busy and have that baby, that’s what I expect. Stopping in the middle of labor! That’s just foolish and rude. And it certainly won’t keep that baby from being born. If they won’t give her drugs, she’ll just have to man up and get the job done.”

  “Man up?” Len shook her head. “Do you ever listen to what you say, Mama?”

  “If this drags out much longer, we’ll have to do something.”

  “About Joss?”

  “About Raney and Dalton. Try to keep up, dear.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Dalton was so bored he was seeing patterns in the waiting room carpet. If he’d been in Iraq, he could have stretched out against the back wall and gotten some sleep, rather than sitting here, watching Raney trim her nails with her teeth and smooth the rough edges against her jeans.

  In chairs against the opposite wall, Mrs. Whitcomb and Len were having an animated conversation. Probably planning Joss’s wedding, if she ever decided to have one, and assuming Grady didn’t withdraw his proposal. Dalton would have. About nine months ago. He wasn’t much for drama. Which was one of the many reasons he deeply appreciated levelheaded Raney. His silent, nail-biting worrier.

  With a sigh, he leaned his head back and studied the number and placement of recessed lights in the ceiling. Sixteen on this side of the nurses’ station. It irritated him that several were out of alignment, so he didn’t bother to count those on the other side of the station.

  Now the Whitcomb duo were frowning at Raney and whispering behind their hands. She didn’t notice and he didn’t warn her. She was nervous enough as it was.

  He wished he’d brought something to read. The puzzles in the Highlights magazine weren’t that challenging and the stack of “Miracle of Birth” pamphlets on the side table had disturbing drawings of lactating breasts and tilted uteruses and other stuff men didn’t need to know about. They also reminded him too much of his first sex-ed class, when the boys’ PE teacher had taped on the board a huge poster with a cross section of a penis. He didn’t remember much about the lecture, but that giant penis had haunted him for weeks and made him feel inadequate for months after. Then he discovered if you pull on it, it will grow.

  That was a good day.

  “What are you smiling about?” Raney aske
d.

  “I’m not smiling. It’s an autonomic muscular response to extreme boredom.” He rose. “I’m going for coffee. Want some?”

  She shook her head and bit off a hangnail on her right thumb.

  He wandered over to the coffee machine on a table beside a water fountain and filled a foam cup—black, no sugar—then almost scalded his hand when he turned and found the two older Whitcombs standing right behind him. With an apologetic look, he stepped aside to give them access to the machine.

  They didn’t move. Both were staring at him.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, just for something to say.

  “At this rate, she’ll never have any babies,” Mrs. Whitcomb said.

  “Kind of late to worry about that now, don’t you think?” Dalton quipped.

  Neither smiled.

  “I was referring to Raney,” Mrs. Whitcomb told him. “You need to do something.”

  “About what?” he asked warily. Surely, she wasn’t asking him to impregnate her daughter. Not that he was opposed. But shouldn’t Raney have a say in it, too?

  Len edged closer. Her hair smelled like Raney’s. They must use the same shampoo. Or maybe it was genetic. “You need to get her out of here, Dalton.”

  “She’s worrying too much,” Mama added, hemming him in on his other side. “It’ll sour her on babies altogether.”

  “Isn’t there someplace you can take her for a few hours?” Len asked.

  He was starting to get a neck ache from all the head swiveling to follow the conversation.

  “Didn’t your parents move somewhere around here?”

  “Plainview?”

  “Perfect!” Mama burst out, patting his arm. She lowered her voice again. “Take your time. No rush. Joss may not have that baby for hours yet. Days, even. Go.” She gave him a push that almost spilled his coffee. Again.