Authors: Cathy McDavid
Gavin took out his phone and placed the call. While he waited
to be put through to the vet, everyone chatted softly. Dallas smiled hopefully
at Conner, who squeezed her knee.
“If none of the horses here are a match,” he said, “we might
try some of Clay’s. He has a few older head that his father owned.”
“Dr. Schaeffer, thank you for taking my call.” Gavin explained
the situation to the vet. They spoke for several minutes, Dallas hanging on
every word. “Yeah, we could probably take the samples, save you a trip out here.
Sure thing. I’ll hold.” He covered the mouthpiece. “He’s checking with the girl
at the front desk to see if the lab has sent the colt’s DNA results yet.”
Sage stood. “I’m going to put Milo down for a nap. Can I get
anyone a refill on their drink or a snack?”
Everyone was fine. In Dallas’s case, she was too nervous to
even think about eating. Conner must have stopped caring about keeping their
relationship under wraps, for he took her hand firmly in his.
It felt nice. Right. The way it should be.
“Yeah, Doc.” Gavin straightened. “I’m here.” His broad grin
conveyed the good news that the test results were positive. “Thanks for your
help. See you on Friday.”
He hung up, and the room erupted in laughter and hugs.
“Chiquita’s colt really is Prince’s son.” Dallas couldn’t get
over it.
“I figured as much the moment I laid eyes on your stallion.”
For a split second, Mr. Edenvane’s face was that of a young man.
Dallas longed for her camera.
“Grandpa never got over losing Chiquita,” Marjorie said. “I’m
so happy with the way things turned out.”
Mr. Edenvane raised his glass as if to toast. “She’s a fine
one. You’ll enjoy riding her once she’s healed. Has the smoothest gait of any
horse I owned. Like riding a bike.”
“This is going to make an incredible new ending for the book.”
Dallas jumped to her feet. “We need more pictures. Mr. Edenvane, would you and
Marjorie be willing to pose for me?”
The elderly man was pleased to oblige and, Dallas thought,
flattered. She promised to send him and his granddaughter sets of the pictures.
Gavin promised them each copies of the book when it was published.
The mood was exuberant after that. It had taken a year, but
Prince’s origin was close to being determined.
Conner watched while Dallas took Mr. Edenvane’s photograph on
the back patio. She realized there would be no more working with him after
today.
She was a little sad to see the project wrapping up. She
consoled herself with the knowledge that every time she looked at the book it
would be a reminder of these last wonderful weeks and the events that had
brought her and Conner together.
* * *
“Y
OU
GOING
TO
TELL
ME
what’s going on with you and Dallas?”
Conner looked Gavin directly in the face, and then turned away.
He might as well be wearing a sign on his forehead. “We’re friends.”
“Like you and I are friends?”
“Sort of.”
“Except we don’t hold hands.”
“All right. It’s a little more than friendship.”
“A little? Ha! From where I stand, you’re in deep. Up to your
elbows, if not your neck.
It was true.
“We had a date.”
“And?”
“And then another date. Dinner.”
“Did there happen to be breakfast in bed following the
dinner?”
Conner refused to discuss the intimate aspects of his
relationship with Dallas, even with Gavin.
The two of them were standing on the back porch. Mr. Edenvane
and his granddaughter had recently left. Dallas was inside the house, playing
with Milo while Sage readied the girls for a choral concert at school that
evening. Gavin had lured Conner outside under the pretense of talking ranch
business.
“What about her ex? Your old buddy? Does he know?”
“Not yet.”
“That’s going to be interesting.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you even thought about telling him?”
“I try not to.” Right or wrong, Conner was choosing to live in
the moment. It was easier that way. The last six months had been the worst in
his life, next to when his parents divorced. He deserved a few days, a few
weeks, of happiness. “We’re not making any announcements yet. And I’d appreciate
it if you didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t want people to know, you’d better keep your hands to
yourself.”
Good advice.
“What changed your mind?” Gavin leaned against the patio wall
and folded his arms over his chest. “Last you told me, you weren’t going to ask
her out.”
“The Sonoran Bottling Plant board meeting is scheduled for
tomorrow morning.” Conner hadn’t mentioned it to Dallas, in order not to worry
her. “I should hear back in the afternoon.”
“After you land the job, what then?”
“Dallas and I will talk. Get an understanding of each other’s
expectations.”
“Better hurry. She’s a woman, she’s already forming
expectations.”
“I will.” Conner pushed his cowboy hat back and rubbed his
forehead.
When Gavin next spoke, his voice was less stern. “You have
nothing to be scared of.”
“Wouldn’t you be in my shoes?”
“Hell, yes. But not because I didn’t have the kind of job I
wanted. Great as Dallas is, she comes with a lot of built-in complications.
Those are what would scare me.”
“Hear that sound? It’s my knees knocking together.”
Sage stuck her head out the door. “Dallas is leaving. Come say
goodbye.”
Gavin pushed off the wall. “You need anything, a shoulder to
cry on, a swift kick in the ass, let me know.”
“Thanks.” Conner managed a dry chuckle.
In the kitchen, Dallas was loading her camera bag and purse.
“Hey!” She broke into a smile at the sight of him.
Seeing Sage’s raised eyebrows, Conner figured Gavin wasn’t the
only one who’d figured out which way the wind was blowing.
“I tried to get her to stay for dinner, but she refuses,” Sage
said.
“I have to pick up some prints and deliver them before five.”
Dallas jammed more papers in her bag. “This is one of those clients you don’t
show up late for.”
That gave her an hour, if she didn’t dally.
With no more reason to keep secrets, Conner said, “I’ll walk
you to your car.”
“Okay.” She smiled again, the familiar,
I-can’t-wait-to-be-alone-with-you kind.
Conner’s gut knotted. He really should have that talk with her
soon. Tomorrow. After he got the formal job offer from Sonoran Bottling. When he
felt strong and confident and like his old self.
They had just reached her car when her phone rang. Fishing it
from the depths of her purse, she checked the display and answered, a puzzled
expression on her face.
Was it Richard? The guy had made a habit of calling Dallas a
lot lately.
“Yes, this Dallas Sorrenson. How can I help you?”
Okay, not Richard.
“I did. I can. Absolutely, I will.” There were pauses in
between each of her remarks. “Tomorrow at 11:00 a.m. No, no, I can look up the
address. Oh, all right. It’s Dallas Sorrenson at Cox dot net. Great. Thank you
so much for this opportunity! Uh-huh. See you then.”
She snapped her cell phone shut, her face aglow. “That was
Channel Three. They want to interview me for their noon edition of the
Arizona Today
show.” She threw her arms around Conner
and squeezed tightly.
“About Chiquita?”
“Yes. Also about my volunteer work at the animal shelters and
the mustang sanctuary. Apparently, when they heard Chiquita’s story, they
researched me. Channel Three researched me!” She squealed. “This is an
incredible break. For the shelters, the ranch and for me.”
“You deserve it.” He drew her to him for a quick kiss on the
lips. “You’ve worked hard. For a long time. Your photographs are the kind that
inspire people.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal. The entire world doesn’t
watch the noon edition of
Arizona Today.
”
“Don’t sell yourself or this opportunity short.” He tilted her
face to his. “Who knows what will happen? You could become the next great
documentary photographer. Another Dorothea Lange.”
“True.” The glow returned, coloring her cheeks an appealing
shade of pink.
“What me to go with you?”
“You’d do that?”
“Sure. Gavin will give me the time off.”
“I’d love for you to come with me.”
“I’ll pick you up at ten.”
He waited for her to suggest he meet her later that evening at
her place and spend the night.
She didn’t.
“Great. Oh, gosh! I really need to get going. I can’t be late
delivering those prints.”
Another quick kiss and she was gone, heading down the driveway
to the road as if running a race.
Conner didn’t return to Gavin’s house or his apartment. Rather,
he walked to the barn and straight to Chiquita’s stall. He liked that she had a
name at last, and called her by it.
When he didn’t produce a treat, she ignored him. The colt,
however, came over. Conner had been working with him every day, trying to get
him used to people. As if sensing his mood, the colt rested his chin on Conner’s
arm.
In his mind, he saw Dallas driving away. She wasn’t just
heading to an appointment, she was heading to her bright, shining future. Ready
to make her mark on the world.
He only hoped she wasn’t leaving him behind.
Chapter Fourteen
“Wow!” Conner gave a low whistle. “You look
fantastic!”
“Not too pregnant?” Dallas stepped out onto the stoop, closing
and locking her front door behind her.
“No one will notice.”
They would be too busy staring at her legs, which were showed
off to their best advantage in a slim fitting skirt. The loose blazer she’d
chosen to wear over the skirt mostly camouflaged her condition.
Personally, Conner liked her slightly protruding belly and
thought it made her sexier.
“Thank you, sweetie.” Standing on tiptoes, she kissed his cheek
and wiped off the lipstick smudge she’d left behind. “Sorry about that.”
He had half a mind to pull her into his arms and let her leave
lipstick smudges all over his mouth. He waited too long. The next instant she
was off, walking briskly toward the curb, where his truck was parked. He should
have thought ahead and asked Clay to lend him his car again. Maybe Dallas didn’t
want to ride to the TV station in his jalopy.
“I have some news,” she said when they were on their way. “The
AAWA called after I got home yesterday. They want to use my pictures of Chiquita
for their anticruelty campaign. Website, posters, magazines and newspapers. If
the campaign’s successful, the ads could be picked up nationally.”
“Congratulations!”
“I’m glad some good has come out of that poor horse’s ordeal.
Maybe the next person will think twice before abusing an animal. Or maybe
someone will have the guts to come forward and report the abuses.”
To date, the authorities had no idea who had shot Chiquita or
why, and they probably never would.
“There’s more,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
“What?”
Conner was happy to let her talk. It kept him from dwelling on
the Sonoran Bottling board meeting that was probably taking place that very
moment.
“I sold the picture of you and Molly. The one I took when we
went on the wagon ride.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Found out right before you arrived.” She flipped the visor
down to block the sun as they turned a corner. “Creative Marketing Associates
bought it. They’re huge! And get this. One of their clients is Sonoran Bottling.
What are the odds?”
Conner’s anticipation escalated. “Did
they
buy the photograph?”
“No, but wouldn’t that have been cool? An auto dealership did,
that’s all I know.”
“Still, it’s good, right?”
“It’s great. People from all over the state are going to see my
work. And your face.” She grinned gleefully.
His face in a magazine? Hard to imagine.
“The pay is good.” She cited the amount he’d receive for the
model’s fee.
“That’s a lot. I didn’t do anything except stand there.”
“You got lucky. We both did. A photographer never knows which
of their pictures will sell and for how much.”
“I’m not sure I feel right about taking the money. You’re the
one who did all the work.”
“I wouldn’t have had a picture without you.” She laughed.
“Maybe we should try again. Then we’ll both make a bundle and become
famous.”
“That’d be the day,” he said drily.
“It could happen.”
Conner should be pleased. He certainly needed the money.
If only it didn’t come from Dallas.
“Hey, you.”
He glanced over to find her watching him.
“Anything wrong?” she asked.
She was floating on air. He didn’t want to do or say anything
to spoil her mood.
“Just wondering what a TV set is like.”
“It’s not what you think. I went a few times with my mom when I
was a kid. Sometimes she’d be a guest on one of the PBS shows. Usually having to
do with the school or sculpting or an art showing.”
“Were you ever on TV?”
“No, and I’m a little nervous.” For the next few minutes,
Dallas regaled him with stories of her mother’s experiences. Then her phone
rang. “It’s Richard,” she announced, glaring at the display.
Conner tried to act as if he wasn’t listening to their
conversation, which he was.
“I did. Thanks for stopping by.”
Stopping by? He’d been over to see her?
“No, I’ll definitely use it.”
Use what? Something for the baby? For her?
“I’ve been thinking. Haven’t decided yet.”
Thinking about what?
Conner wanted to but couldn’t shut off the questions, which
kept coming one after the other.
“Can we talk later? This isn’t a good time.” She finally rolled
her eyes, communicating her impatience and that she wished the phone call was
over.
Was it true or strictly for Conner’s benefit?
“We’re on our way to the TV station. For the interview. I told
you last night.”
So they had talked last night. In person, apparently, because
Richard had dropped something off. Was that why Dallas hadn’t invited Conner to
stay over?
This had to stop. Now.
He forced his attention fully on the road. Traffic was
increasing the closer they traveled to downtown Phoenix. Dallas had every right
and reason to talk to Richard, the father of her baby, and would be doing so the
rest of their lives. Conner had better get used to it.
“A friend, is all. Someone I work with.”
What would Richard say if he knew the friend was Conner?
Probably be as jealous as Conner was of him.
“I have to go,” Dallas said brusquely. “Yes. I will. Call you
later.” Expelling a tired sigh, she leaned her head against the rest. “I really
didn’t want that right before the interview.”
Conner contemplated putting a reassuring hand on her knee, but
didn’t.
“There’s nothing between Richard and me,” she said.
“What?”
“In case you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You’re grinding your teeth.”
He immediately stopped. “Traffic’s congested. I’m suppressing
road rage.”
She reached over, pried one of his hands loose from the
steering wheel and held it in hers. “Look at me, Conner.”
He did. For two seconds, because traffic really was
congested.
She squeezed his fingers until he relaxed.
They stayed like that, holding hands, until a phone chimed.
This time it was his.
Sonoran Bottling came up on the display, and a lightning streak
of exhilaration cut through him.
“I think it’s Sunday Givens.”
“Pull over,” Dallas instructed.
Placing the phone to his ear, he swung the truck into the first
entrance they came to, which happened to be a bank. “Hello. This is Conner
Durham.”
Dallas shut off the radio.
“Conner, hi. It’s Sunday Givens. How are you today?”
“I’m fine. Nice to hear from you.”
“Is this a good time to talk?”
He pulled into an empty space and parked, letting the engine
idle. “I have a few minutes.”
“I can’t tell you what a good fit you are for the position and
what a delight it’s been, getting to know you. The board was very impressed by
you and your résumé, and they’re not easily swayed. There isn’t one candidate
I’ve interviewed I like better than you.”
“Thank you.”
Here it came. She was going to extend the official offer!
Beside him, Dallas beamed.
“Which is why,” Sunday continued, “it’s so difficult for me to
deliver this news.”
Inch by inch, Conner’s vision dimmed until only the center of
the steering wheel remained.
“I’m sorry. The board chose another candidate. One whose
experience is more closely aligned with a bottling plant than energy systems
are. I could overrule their decision, but I don’t feel it’s warranted under the
circumstances.”
He was quite sure his heart had stopped beating. That something
inside him had broken.
“Conner? Did I lose you?” Sunday’s voice sounded a hundred
miles away.
“I understand.” His tone was flat. Empty.
“If this individual turns out not be the best choice, we’ll
absolutely bring you on board.”
The rest of what she said was an unintelligible humming.
He hadn’t gotten the job. They’d hired someone else.
Evidently he must have muttered a response, for Sunday
apologized again, wished him well and bade him goodbye.
“Oh, Conner.” Dallas leaned across the console and stroked his
arm. “I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted that job.”
He had, and his disappointment at not landing it left a giant,
gaping hole inside him. Three days wasted when he could have been job hunting.
What if the ideal one had been posted and he missed it?
Anger rose up in him like an exploding geyser.
Swearing, he threw the truck in Reverse and peeled out of the
parking lot, slowing only when he reached the road. He had a passenger, a
pregnant passenger. Now wasn’t the time to vent his frustration by driving
recklessly.
He and Dallas spoke little on the remaining drive to the TV
station. Conner reminded himself over and over that it could be worse. He still
had employment, even if he didn’t earn enough to cover all his expenses. If he
swallowed his pride, sold the house at a substantial loss, he’d be better
off.
If he could even sell it. The real estate market wasn’t what it
used to be.
Dammit! That would teach him to assume.
At the TV station, he held open the glass door at the front
entrance for Dallas, attempting to quell the tremors in his arms and legs.
She went ahead to the front desk and checked in. They were
escorted by a very pregnant assistant something-or-other down a series of
winding halls to a studio.
Conner didn’t generally watch the
Arizona
Today
show, but he’d caught bits of it now and then and he recognized
the set. Dallas was correct when she’d said it would look different than on
TV.
“Please wait here.” The woman pointed to a director’s chair
positioned a considerable distance off set. “Ms. Sorrenson, if you’ll come with
me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Hair and makeup.”
Dallas’s fingers flew to her hair and then her cheek.
“Just a touch-up. For the lights.” The woman gave her a
once-over. “You look fine. And congratulations. When are you due?”
“Early April.”
“Your first?”
“Yes.
The woman patted her large belly in a manner similar to how
Dallas patted her smaller one. “My second.” She turned to Conner. “You must be
excited, Dad. There’s nothing like having your first baby.”
Conner waited for Dallas to correct the woman, tell her that he
wasn’t the baby’s father.
Instead she stammered something about her parents and this
being their first grandchild.
He tried not to read too much into it as he watched the two of
them walk away. Dallas was nervous. Distracted. She might not even have noticed
the other woman’s comment.
He observed the camera operators, stage manager, director and
an array of other workers scurrying to and fro, half of them wearing headsets.
It was an interesting process and completely unfamiliar to Conner. He’d have
taken more of an interest if he wasn’t replaying the phone call with Sunday over
and over in his head.
Eventually, two cohosts emerged, took their places in the
stylish, ultramodern chairs, and the show began. Conner barely followed what was
said, their supercharged personalities annoying him. A commercial break was
followed by more of the show and another commercial break. When they returned,
Dallas was introduced.
She entered the set, looking stunning. Conner concentrated,
listened to her answer with poise and confidence the questions put to her. A
nearby TV monitor showed what the viewers at home were seeing.
After a warning from the hosts about viewer discretion, photos
of Chiquita appeared, the arrows protruding. Then close-ups of her ghastly
wounds. The hosts expressed appropriate outrage and sympathy. The interview
continued briefly before taking a surprising turn. Dallas’s other
accomplishments were mentioned and praised, several of her commercial
photographs shown. She accepted the compliments humbly and with grace.
Her career would skyrocket after today. How could it not? And
she deserved everything coming to her.
Didn’t Conner deserve more than he had? Hadn’t he worked just
as hard as Dallas? Just as hard as Richard? He possessed two degrees. Had given
years of loyal, dedicated, exemplary service to his employer.
He blinked, realizing Dallas’s interview was over and he’d
missed the end. When had she left the set?
She must be waiting in the green room or whatever they called
it.
The assistant something-or-other appeared in front of him. “Did
you like the show, Mr. Sorrenson?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Your wife’s a natural.”
Say it. Tell her Dallas isn’t your
wife.
“What do you do for a living?”
“A...ranch.”
The woman looked impressed. “You own a ranch?”
“Work on one.”
“Oh.” She was no longer impressed.
It didn’t matter that he’d once earned three times what she
probably did, had owned a garage full of vehicles and vacationed every year in
exciting locales.
He was nothing but a ranch hand who deserved no more than an
“Oh.”
How soon until Dallas said it with that exact same telltale
tone?
People on their way up in the world didn’t usually remain long
with someone on his way down.
“Are you all right, Mr. Sorrenson?” The woman leaned closer.
“Can I get you some water?”
“Air.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I need air.” His lungs seemed to have filled with a dense
fiber that blocked the flow of oxygen. “And my name is Durham. Conner Durham.
Not Sorrenson.”
He stood and stumbled past the woman, instinctively heading
though the maze of hallways to the front entrance. Only when he was outside
could he draw a decent breath.
* * *
“T
HANKS
, M
OM
.” Dallas cradled her cell phone
between her shoulder and ear. “I’ll be by later.”