She’s Gone Country (12 page)

“If I’d known about Matthew—” My voice breaks. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t speak. He just looks at me, and his eyes are green, a beautiful bottle green. “You love your boys,” he says after the longest moment.

“With all my heart.”

“You’re a good mom.”

“I try,” I answer, my voice husky. I glance to Lulu, who is waiting surprisingly patiently. “I don’t want to keep you. I know you’re on your way out.”

“You take care, Shey.”

My lower lip threatens to tremble, and I bite it hard. “You too.” And then, because I’m terrified I’m about to fall apart in his driveway, I quickly roll up the window, back the truck up, and pull away from the house.

I
’m on my way home from Dane’s when Pop’s old truck dies, leaving me stranded on the side of the 180.

I call Brick, who comes to get me. After looking under the rusting hood, he calls Bern’s Towing to have the truck taken to Manny’s Auto Shop in Mineral Wells.

“We need to get you your own car,” he says as we wait for the tow truck. “Something new and reliable—”

“I don’t need a new car.”

“Then a decent used car. But Pop’s truck is as old as Moses and it’s not going to get any younger.”

I just shake my head. The last thing I want to do is buy a car, any car, especially if we end up returning to New York.

“Let’s just see what Manny says,” I answer. Having gone to school with Manny Ramirez, I know him and trust him implicitly. Manny was a running back on the high school football team when I attended Mineral Wells, back when Mineral Wells had a good team. And he’s worked on our family cars ever since he took over his uncle’s auto business fifteen years ago.

Since Brick needs his truck today, he drops me at the house and heads to Fort Worth, where he has meetings at the stockyard. But he has assured me he’ll get the boys from school on his way home.

I’m frustrated being back at the house, though, especially without wheels. We’re definitely isolated on the ranch, and I don’t like being trapped in the country without wheels. It reminds me of being grounded as a teenager.

I zip through the house, gathering dirty clothes and dirty dishes, and start a load of laundry before I tackle unloading the dishwasher. The dishwasher’s heat cycle died years ago, so I dry every dish by hand.

I’m stacking plates when the kitchen phone rings. I move to answer, only to trip over the open dishwasher door and slam my shin against the side. I yelp in pain as I pick up. “Hello?”

“Shey?”

I’ll always know his voice. It’s the pitch and the diction, a little slow and very rich, like warm molasses. “Dane.”

“You okay?”

“Noooo. Yes.”

“So which is it?”

“Both,” I say, laughing to keep from crying as I hop around.

“Need first aid?”

“Can you come administer some?”

His chuckle is soft and sexy and makes me shiver with delight. “How serious is the injury?”

“I might need a Band-Aid.”

He laughs his sexy laugh again. “That is a call to action.”

I stop hopping to rub my shin where it’s tender. “So what can I do for you, Mr. Kelly?”

“I wanted to apologize to Cooper personally.”

“He’s at school.”

“I know, and I’ll call him this afternoon. But I wanted to talk to you first, let you know I’m sorry and you had every right to be upset. If someone slighted my boy, I’d feel the same way.”

I’m touched and also flustered by the apology. “It’s okay. Coop pretty much ambushed you.”

“He’s a boy. That’s how boys operate.”

“He’ll appreciate the call,” I say. “It’ll restore you to hero status as well.”

Dane is silent a long time, and then he clears his throat. “That’s just it, Shey. I’m not a hero, and I get real uncomfortable when folks try to make me one.”

“But you are a hero to folks who love the rodeo.”

“You’re not a hero because you last eight seconds on the back of a bull. Heroes are people who’ve done great things. I’ve never saved anyone.”

He’s angry. Angry with himself. And I don’t understand it at first until it hits me—he’s talking about Matthew.

He’s never saved anyone. Meaning he couldn’t save his own son.

“It’s hard being a parent,” I say slowly, trying to think of the right words but not sure what those words would be. I don’t know this Dane. The Dane I knew was a gorgeous but rugged cowboy, an uncomplicated man who lived, breathed, and slept riding and competing. His focus was the chute and the eight seconds that followed, and I wanted him in the most simplistic, physical way. Now we’re twenty years older and tested by life. “You end up questioning everything you do, as well as everything you don’t do.”

He exhales. “Isn’t that the truth.”

His voice has always been deep, but right now it vibrates with emotion. I don’t answer immediately, struck by the changes in us, struck by the difficulty of life. We’re not the same, but I take no solace in that. The spiritualists might say suffering is good for the soul, but I find it overrated.

“I am sorry, Dane,” I repeat because I don’t know what else to say.

We say good-bye then, and I hang up the phone feeling a hundred times worse than before he called. Dane isn’t who I remembered. Twenty-three years ago he was young and physical and exuded sex. I loved his swagger and that delicious chemistry between us. All I wanted to do was look at him. Watch him. Listen to him. Be near him. It was a thrill. Heady, forbidden, exciting.

It didn’t cross my mind that life would be any other way. That we could change. That love could disappoint. There were no layers to us, nothing to challenge us other than ourselves.

The phone rings again. “What are you doing right now?” Dane asks roughly.

My heart squeezes so hard, my breath catches in my throat. If I’m not careful, he could break what’s left of my heart. “I’m standing in my kitchen.”

I can practically feel his smile over the phone, and it gives me a jolt of pleasure. “How about lunch?”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

God, I’d love, love, love to go—but I’m stranded. There’s not another working vehicle on the property. “Pop’s truck broke down this morning on the 180 on my way home from your place. Brick had it towed to Manny’s, so I’m without wheels.”

“That’s not a problem. I’ll come get you.”

“You will?”

“Yeah. See you in a half hour.”

I’m so excited that it’s embarrassing, but since no one’s around to witness my silliness, I turn on the iPod stereo next to my bed, cranking up the volume on the Faith Hill CD while I change. I sing as I wriggle out of my ratty Levi’s and blue T-shirt and dance as I wriggle into a pair of less tattered Wranglers and a black peasant-style blouse with colorful embroidery at the collar and wrists.

It’s absurd that I feel so happy just to be going to lunch with Dane, but it’s been a long time since I felt this way—light, young, good.

Good.

Humming along to the song, I pull my hair into a ponytail and then pull out bits to frame my face. With little diamond studs in my ears and mascara and lip gloss, I’m ready, which leaves me ten minutes to pace outside until Dane arrives in his hulking black truck.

I take a quick, nervous breath as his truck appears in the drive, the big tires crunching gravel and kicking up clouds of reddish dust.

Dane spots me in the shade by the house, and I jam my hands in my pockets, feigning nonchalance as he slows. Can’t believe we’re going to lunch. Can’t believe he’s driven a half hour just to pick me up.

He leans over to open the passenger door from the inside, and a lock of thick honey hair falls forward on his brow. He’s not wearing his hat today, and his eyes are the deepest sea green. “Hope you’re hungry,” he says.

I’m hot and nervous, skin all prickly as I climb into his truck. “I could eat.”

“How’s Dixie’s sound?”

“Great.” Adrenaline’s pumping as I shut the door behind me. I glance at him quickly, nervously. “Thanks for picking me up.”

He smiles, and the creases at his eyes deepen. I don’t know how it’s possible, but he’s better looking now at forty-five than he was at twenty-two. I don’t miss the cockiness of youth, appreciating instead that he’s a man in his prime—mature and comfortable in his skin.

“You’re only a little out of the way,” he says with that slow smile.

My insides do a free fall all over again, and I fumble with the seat belt. It takes me a few attempts before I’m able to get it buckled. I look at him from the corner of my eye to see if he’s noticed. He has.

Relax, I tell myself. Come on, pull it together.

He shoots me an amused glance. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll settle down. Just give me a minute.”

“What’s got you so jumpy?” he asks as we head down the lane away from the house, beneath the high canopy of seventy-year-old oak trees, the thick limbs gnarled, the sun poking through the leaves dappling the road.

I give him a long look. “You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re a problem.”

“
I’m
a problem.”

I laugh at the way he repeats me, as well as his incredulous tone. I’d forgotten how he always made me laugh. “Yes. You’ve made me crazy since the first day I met you—”

“Shey, you were two,” he answers dryly.

The laughter bubbles up in me again. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, unfortunately, I do.”

“This is going to be a disaster.”

“You just need some ribs. You’ll be fine.”

I can’t help smiling at him. I’d forgotten that I could feel like this. Light and funny, clever and strong. Maybe that’s Dane’s magic. He’s always made me feel special.

He glances at me. “It’s nice to hear you laugh, Shey.”

The hot, bright emotion rushes through me again, and it’s overwhelming. “It’s nice to laugh. It’s been a while.”

“I take it you’re still modeling?”

“I wasn’t doing a lot of work in New York lately—there are so many models to choose from there. But I’ve been able to get booked for some good jobs here. I guess I’m lucky.”

“Not lucky. You’re beautiful.”

I close my eyes, fight the emptiness and the longing and all the needs that have gone unmet for so long. “You shouldn’t pay me compliments like that. They’ll turn my head.”

“Good.”

“Oh, Dane.”

“What, darlin’?”

He sounds exactly like the man I fell in love with. Sexy and rugged and yet tender, too, and it makes my heart ache. “It’s been a rough year,” I confess huskily. “I miss how things were. I miss who I used to be.”

“You’re still the same Shey.”

“Then why don’t I feel like me?”

“Because you’re hanging on to the negative stuff, lingering on the bad feelings. But you can’t get hung up on the bad. You’ve got to let it go, otherwise you’re toast.”

We emerge just then from the dappled shade into the dazzling glaze of sunlight. “So you can let the bad stuff go now?”

“No. Not always. But it’s the goal.”

Dixie’s is a little barbecue joint in Mineral Wells operating out of a converted A&W restaurant. The exterior is white. The interior is white with red picnic tables and benches. There’s no artwork to speak of, just a huge menu handwritten on the wall. Dixie’s serves ribs and brisket along with a choice of barbecue sauces, thick and tangy, hot and spicy, sweet or smoky.

In Texas, beef reigns supreme. Texas barbecue is synonymous with beef brisket, and the best pit masters don’t even bother with sauces or rubs. They rely on time and wood smoke—up to eighteen hours in the pit. Tommy Johns, the owner of Dixie’s, moved from Memphis and brought along his love of ribs, particularly the dry rib, a rack of spareribs cooked with rub instead of sauce, which is what we order today.

Dane pays for lunch, and I carry our plastic tumblers of iced tea to an open spot on one of the red tables. Fans whir overhead and from high on the walls. The air feels good on the back of my neck, and I tip my head back, exhale.

Dane joins me at the table, shifting his cane to the side to take a seat on the bench. I can see that he’s not comfortable, at least not right away. He shifts his weight, extends his leg, and then catches me staring.

“Something wrong?” he drawls.

“Just watching you.”

“You always were all eyes.”

I smile. “I can’t help it. You’re nice to look at.”

He shakes his head. “See? You haven’t changed. You’re still the same Shey. Beautiful, stubborn, and headstrong.”

I study him, thinking I’ve loved his face for as long as I can remember—such strong cheekbones and jaw, with that straight nose and beautiful mouth. I love his mouth and the way his whole face is put together. “Are you and Lulu pretty serious?” I blurt.

He gives me a pointed look.

I push on. “She doesn’t seem right for you.”

“You don’t know her.”

“But I do know she married a man nearly fifty years older than her. What thirty-two-year-old woman wants to be with an eighty-year-old man?”

He shakes his head at me. “Nice southern girls are supposed to make polite conversation.”

“I guess I’m not a nice southern girl anymore.”

The edge of his mouth lifts. “Your mama won’t want to hear that.”

“Mama’s never happy with me no matter what I do.”

“So why did you come home, then?”

“When we came back for Cody’s funeral in June, it just felt right. I was home. I was back where I belonged. And Brick and Blue were wonderful with the boys. It made me realize that I’ve missed having my family around, missed being part of the family. I thought that living here would be a positive change. It would give the kids time to adjust to their dad’s new life, and allow me to spend more time with them as well. In New York I worked a lot, especially when I was younger. Here on the ranch I’m with them every day.”

“So their dad has a new woman?”