She’s Gone Country (7 page)

“I’m not afraid.”

“Maybe not, but you’re not built to be a rodeo cowboy. You’re going to be too big. You’re already five ten, and the top professional cowboys are smaller, leaner—”

“Dane Kelly’s big. I read his biography at school. He’s at least six two. And Owen Washburn was big, too.”

“Yeah, but bull riders like Dane Kelly and Owen Washburn are the exception, not the norm.”

He sits up. “I can be the exception, too.”

I’m sure he could, but he doesn’t realize that the great cowboys all start young, really young. Cooper’s twelve, and yes, he’s comfortable in the saddle and getting proficient at roping, but that’s a far cry from riding a bucking animal. “You’d discover there’s a pretty steep learning curve, Coop. Kids your age have already been competing for years.”

“I know.” His jaw tightens, and the freckles on the bridge of his nose darken against his flushed skin. “Ty Murray rode his first calf when he was two and his first bull at nine. But I want to try. I think I could be good. No, I know I could be.”

This is a new Cooper, one I’ve never met before. “Why this now?”

Agitated, he plucks at the black threads of the heirloom quilt covering my bed. “I want to be good at something. And I want to be important. So important that people won’t be mean to Bo or say things about Dad.” He looks at me, blue gaze piercing. “Can you talk to Dane Kelly? See if he can’t teach me? I want to learn everything. I want to ride and rope. But most of all, I want to win.”

“Honey, I don’t know that Dane’s the best one to teach you—”

“Why not? He’s one of the best bull riders in Texas.”

“Things are tense between your uncles and Dane, and it’d feel awkward to ask him.”

“But you don’t have a problem with him.” His gaze is so blue and steady. Bo might remind me of Cody, but Cooper is all Brick. “You could at least ask, Mom.”

But I don’t want to ask Dane for favors or be in his debt. I have no desire to think about him or depend on him or risk getting hung up on him again. It’s bad enough that he rescued Bo from the side of the road. I’m not going to involve Dane in Coop’s life, too. “I’ll think about it.”

He frowns. “That means no.”

He knows me pretty well. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea approaching Dane now. But if you really want to ride, I’ll do some research and see who else is teaching.”

“Mom.”

I shake my head. “Don’t push, Coop. You’re just going to make me mad and then I won’t find anyone to help you.”

Wisely, he drops the subject and returns to his room. I turn out my light to try to sleep, but it’s hard to relax. I think about Bo’s fight. And then I think about Dane bringing Bo home. And then I think about Dane on our doorstep and how he’s now single and Shellie Ann’s in Austin. Yet I feel no satisfaction knowing they’re no longer together. It just makes me mad. He should have never married her in the first place. He was supposed to marry me. That was my dream. It was my only dream. And now I realize what a silly dream it was.

Dane Kelly is no hero. He’s just a man. A man like any other man, albeit a hundred times more gorgeous than most—which means I have to remember he’s a problem, not a solution to a problem. And I don’t need more problems.

I can cope with my boys’ teenage angst and attitude. I can survive my mother’s preaching. Endure my brothers’ overprotective nature.

But Dane?

Can’t deal with Dane. Won’t deal with Dane. He had his chance and he blew it. Big-time.

Because of the bruising, I decide to let Bo stay home the next couple of days from school, which Brick immediately says is a mistake.

“You let those boys walk all over you,” he tells me after stopping by the house early Wednesday morning to check on Bo and discovering that Bo is still in bed asleep. “And you can’t reward them for getting into trouble.”

“I’m not rewarding him. He’s tired and he was beaten up. He even has bruises on his back and chest. That kid did more than punch. He must have knocked Bo down or kicked him—”

“Probably both, but it’s not going to kill him. And you can’t baby him, or every time there’s a problem, he’ll come running to Mama.”

I roll my eyes, top off my coffee. “I can’t believe you were this tough on Tyler,” I say, referring to his twenty-year-old son, who is a junior at Texas A&M. Tyler’s an amazing kid. Good-looking and bright, he grew up helping his dad and Pop on the ranch and is studying to become a big-animal veterinarian.

“Shey, Tyler learned early that Charlotte wasn’t going to save him when he screwed up. And screwups are part of life.” He pours the rest of the coffee into the mug he brought from home. “Now, are you getting that boy up or am I?”

I spend Friday cleaning, organizing, and pulling together my wardrobe for Blue’s photo shoot tomorrow—jeans, vests, skirts, cute tops, boots, silver-and-turquoise necklaces—and then return to Mineral Wells to pick up the boys from school.

On the way home, Hank reminds me it’s Mineral Wells High School’s homecoming tonight, and he wants to attend the football game and the dance afterward. I hadn’t planned on driving back into town today, but Hank rarely attends the games and I think it’s great that he’s interested in going, so I agree.

Bo immediately chimes in that he wants to go, too, and although I’ve allowed him to tag along with Hank in the past, I say no now. “You’ve just missed two days of school. You can use tonight to catch up on your homework.”

“Homework on a Friday night?”

Here comes another argument, I think, pushing my hair back from my face. Everything’s an argument lately. “School comes first, you know that.”

“But I don’t have anything.”

“How is that possible? You missed two days of school. You’ve got to have homework, classwork, something that needs to be done.”

Bo flushes, making the purple-and-yellow marks on his brow, temples, and jaw darken. I hate the bruises. I can’t wait for them to fade completely. “I did it at school today,” he says. He sees my expression and groans. “It’s the truth, Mom.”

“Okay, fine.”

“So can I go to the game tonight?”

“If your work is really done.”

“It is.”

“Then yes, you can go.”

The boys have been home only an hour when Blue arrives in his silver Range Rover. It’s the newest supercharged model, a car that cost well over one hundred thousand dollars, and every time I see it I want to throttle Blue. Why does he need a car that costs that much money? And why is he already looking at ads for the 2011 edition, a car that doesn’t officially hit the market for another couple of months?

But the car’s forgotten as soon as he steps into the house. Blue is handsome and charming, and as the father of girls, he enjoys my boys. It also takes him only one look at Bo to know what happened earlier in the week.

“Whoa, gunslinger,” he says to Bo, “no one told me about this.”

“Got into a fight,” Bo answers, crashing onto the living room sofa.

Blue takes Pop’s old leather chair, stretches his legs out on the matching ottoman. “I hope the other guy looks as bad.”

Bo grins, the first real smile I’ve seen from him in days. “Worse.”

Blue laughs appreciatively and then asks the boys, who’ve now gathered in the living room, if any of them are planning on playing basketball. “Especially you, Coop,” Blue says. “With your height you’d totally dominate.”

Cooper flushes. “But I don’t want to play basketball. I want to learn to ride. I want to be like Uncle Brick and compete on the circuit.” Cooper glances around the room as if expecting to be ridiculed.

“Brick told me you’ve been doing a bit of riding and roping,” Blue answers. “I didn’t realize you were serious about it.”

“I am. And Mom’s going to get me lessons. Maybe even from Dane Kelly.”

Cooper really has Blue’s attention now. “Dane Kelly?” Blue repeats.

Coop doesn’t even blink. “Uncle Brick’s friend.”

“I know who he is,” Blue answers before glancing at me as if to say, Did you put him up to this?

“I told Coop that it probably won’t be with Dane, but yes, I am looking into hiring someone to work with him.”

Blue’s narrowed gaze still rests on me. “Probably not with Dane?”

“Don’t bully me, Blue,” I flash.

“I just think your loyalties would lie with your family, Shey.”

I roll my eyes but am saved from answering by the ringing of the phone. I jump up and head to the kitchen, where the mustard yellow corded phone hangs on the wall near the back door, stuck in the same sixties time warp as the rest of the house. “Hello?”

“Shey, it’s Dane.”

Speaking of the devil.
My stomach does an impressive nosedive, and I marvel at his impeccable timing. “Hey, Dane,” I answer coolly, my nonchalant tone masking the fact that everything in me has just gone weak and wobbly. “Thank you for bringing Bo home Tuesday. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. How is he?”

I lean against the counter. “Better. Thanks.”

“How’s the bruising?”

“He’s in that yellow-and-purple stage.”

“I wanted to stop by and say hello to him, if you don’t mind.”

My chest constricts again, making breathing harder. I don’t know why Dane has that effect on me, but I’ve got to get a grip. “Bo would love it,” I answer.

He laughs softly. “Just Bo?”

I flush. “Cooper, too. He’d like to join your fan club.”

He laughs again. “I just picked up hay from the Sorensens and am still in the area, so I’ll be there in fifteen.”

My pulse leaps and I dig a hand into the back pocket of my jeans. “Sure. But, uh, Blue just arrived for the weekend, and he’s here now…”

“Oh.”

That one syllable says it all.

“In that case, Shey, I won’t stop. But let Bo know I called—”

“Dane.”

“What?”

The hardness of his voice undermines my courage. I gulp a breath before blurting, “You, Brick, and Blue used to be such good friends, friends for nearly forty years. Can’t you guys work this thing out? Can’t it be like it used to be?”

Silence stretches across the phone line, and then he sighs. “Darlin’, I wish it was.”

There’s loneliness in his voice. Regret, too. A lump forms in my throat. I don’t want to feel this much or care as deeply as I do, but it’s too late for that. “Then talk to Blue,” I beg. “And then maybe Brick will feel like he doesn’t have to take sides.”

“I’ve tried talking to him. Believe me. It doesn’t help. Maybe if Cody hadn’t died…” His voice drifts off.

Because Cody did die, and apparently my brothers do blame him. I close my eyes, shake my head, finding this all so impossible.
“Dane.”

“Darlin’, I wish things had turned out differently, I do, but there’s no going back now. What’s done is done. What’s said is said.” He hesitates. “And unfortunately for all, a lot was said.”

And then he hangs up, and the click of the phone has never sounded quite so final.

Off the phone, I return to the living room fully expecting to be hassled by Blue, but he and the boys have headed outside and are in the Range Rover. I think Blue’s showing the car off until I see Hank slide behind the wheel.

Blue is teaching him to drive.

My lower lip catches between my teeth. Blue was the one who taught me to drive. And Dane was the one who taught Blue to drive. We’re all so connected. Too connected.

Filled with bittersweet emotion, I watch Blue show Hank how to stop and start, reverse, and park. Blue is exceedingly patient, just as patient with Hank as he was with me.

But Hank isn’t the only one to get a driving lesson. Bo and Coop each get a turn behind the wheel, and by the time the boys are done, the driveway is cloudy with dust from all the zooming down the drive and jerky reverses.

The lesson ends, and the boys climb out of the dust-covered SUV. Blue checks his watch as he approaches me. “I was thinking I might drive Hank and Bo to tonight’s game. I haven’t been to one of the high school games in years, and homecoming’s always a lot of fun.”

I love the idea of not driving any more today. “That’d be great. It’d save me the trip into town.”

“Perfect. We’ll head out now. And are we still good for tomorrow?”

“I’ll be at the McCurdy guesthouse bright and early.”

The two older boys take a quick shower and change and then leave with Blue, while Cooper heads to the barn to practice, which means riding the blue barrel he’s strung up between two posts. Coop rides this practice bull every day, and after a half hour I walk down to the barn to watch him train. Inside the barn, I find him leaning back on the barrel, knees clamped tight, heels down deep, left arm high in the air. His brow is furrowed and he’s concentrating hard, as if imagining the next direction the bull will buck.

He’s done this for weeks now, come in here alone to practice ride, since no one else shares his enthusiasm for bull riding. He needs real stock to ride. He needs a real teacher now. But it can’t be Dane. There’s too much tension between my brothers and Dane. Maybe one day they’ll be able to work through the hard feelings, but for now, it’s too soon after Cody’s death.

Back at the house, I sit at the computer in the kitchen to Google bull-riding instructors in Texas. And the very first name that pops up is none other than Dane Kelly.

My fingers itch to click on the link to his website, but I don’t. I refuse to be tempted. Dane broke my heart once, and he may be single again, but there’s no way I’m going to let him get close enough to do it a second time.

T
he next morning, I arrive at the newly built guesthouse on the McCurdy ranch just before eight-thirty and discover Blue already behind the desk inside the rustic great room.

Soft yellow sunlight dapples the limestone floor, and the house smells of freshly brewed coffee. The guesthouse, a two-story stone-and-log cabin with a vaulted ceiling, now serves as the office and ranch’s welcome center, but Blue will one day convert it into a luxury residence to sell once the other home sites are gone.

Blue hangs up the phone as I walk in. “That was Brick. He’s got the horses and is almost here. Will you give him a hand when he arrives?”

“Sure.” I drop into one of the brown-and-white cowhide chairs facing his desk and stretch my legs out. “Are these horses for the photo shoot or the trail rides?”

“Both. Brick’s hitched the big trailer to his truck, so he should have six or seven horses. He thought we’d want to use Sunny and Dandy for the shoot, and the others for the trail ride.”

“Who’s leading the trail rides?”

Blue squirms ever so slightly. “Brick.”

“What?” Brick is not a trail guide sort of guy or the face of Texas tourism. “How did you get him to do that?”

“I promised him my tickets for the Cowboy-Giants game coming up in December.”

“That’s a big game this year.”

Blue looks miserable. “I know. But I needed the help.”

I’m still grinning when the Dallas photographer walks in, carrying a camera bag over one shoulder and a duffel bag of gear on the other. He looks familiar, and I wonder if maybe we’ve worked together in the past.

Blue gets up from the desk and crosses the floor to shake the photographer’s hand. “Glad you made it, Mason. Looks like we’re going to have a gorgeous day for pictures, too.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” the photographer answers before turning to me.

I’m still trying to place him, but he has no problem remembering me. “Shey Darcy,” he says with a smile.

I rise from my chair, smile through my embarrassment. “I should know you. We’ve worked together, haven’t we?”

“Not yet, no.”

My forehead furrows as I try to figure out the mystery. “You’re a photographer, though. And you know me.”

“And I know your husband.”

This feels awkward to me. “Give me a hint. Name the last time I saw you.”

Mason smiles. “It was a party.”

“A party?”

“I approached you, paid you a compliment, and then John walked up—”

“The
Vanity Fair
party!” I clap my hands. “You remembered me as a
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit model.”

“Not knowing you were John’s wife,” he concludes. “John was pretty pissed off.”

“You didn’t say anything wrong.”

“Just that you were my favorite
SI
model of all time.”

Embarrassed, I shake my head, even as I’m suddenly aware that Blue is right next to me, hanging on every word. “You didn’t tell me that,” I protest.

“No, but it’s true.”

I can feel my cheeks grow hotter. “Well, thank you. I’m a lot older and look—”

“Exactly the same.”

Blue looks from me to Mason and back. “So you already know each other?”

Mason gives me a smile that’s definitely appreciative. “I’m a fan of hers, and I had no idea when you told me I’d be working with ‘my sister, a former model,’ that you were referring to the unbelievably hot, unbelievably gorgeous Shey Darcy.” Then he turns back to me. “So how is John? Haven’t talked to him since I moved back to Dallas.”

I suddenly don’t want to do this—be single, available, back on the market. I have too much going on, too much at stake. “He’s good. Busy in New York, but that’s John.”

“So you haven’t moved back to Texas?” Mason asks, disappointed.

I force a smile, ignore Blue. “Just visiting. Helping my brother out.” And then I gesture to his camera bag and duffel bag of gear. “So what’s the plan for this morning? Where are we shooting first?”

Mason takes the bait, begins to talk about our various shots and locations. Then, while he goes to set up his equipment, I retrieve my wardrobe changes from the truck.

Blue’s waiting for me on my return. “Why didn’t you tell him about John? You made it sound like you and he were still together.”

“I know.”

“Mason’s single, and successful, and obviously attracted to you.”

“Too attracted.”

“I thought he was being really nice.”

“Then you flirt with him, but I’m not comfortable.”

Blue just looks more bewildered, and I sigh. “Blue, I’m not the
SI
swimsuit model. Not the hot bod, calendar girl, or fantasy girl. That’s just not me.”

“What do you mean, it’s not you? It is you. And I know I’m your brother, but you’re beautiful and men are going to think you’re beautiful—”

“But that’s not how I see myself.”

He’s genuinely confused. “Why not?”

I see myself in my mind’s eye, and I’m not the Shey Darcy of my modeling portfolio, or the Shey Darcy of Oxygen’s
Model in the Making
show. I’m not smooth and taut, airbrushed and well lit. “Blue, I’m a mom. Hank, Bo, and Cooper’s Mom. That’s who I am. And that’s all I need to be.”

Mason’s flattery may have made me nervous, but his skill as a photographer is immediately apparent as we start working.

I like his locations and love his lighting, and when he shows me what he’s getting with the digital camera, I relax, realizing that Blue’s going to end up with great pictures for his brochure and website.

The morning passes quickly, and when we break for lunch, I’m amazed that it’s been four hours since we started shooting. Back at the guesthouse, I devour my chicken salad as Mason and Blue tuck into barbecue plates. A phone call pulls Blue away, and Mason and I discuss the afternoon shoot, which includes Brick. I’ve enjoyed working with Mason, and I’m reminded all over again how important work is to me and how much I need work, need a focus other than my marriage and kids.

The afternoon shoot with Brick is even more fun. We do the fishing and horseback-riding shots first, saving the couple shots for the very end. None of the “romance” shots will require kissing, but it’s still awkward walking hand in hand with my brother and smiling up at him as if he’s some lost love. “This is really weird, you know,” I say to him, smiling to hide my gritted teeth.

“Let’s just hope no one we know sees these,” he answers.

The sun’s just setting, painting the sky gorgeous, vivid layers of red and gold. It’s perfect lighting for the romance shots. “You should have dragged Charlotte here,” I add. “There’s no reason she couldn’t have done these pics with you.”

“Or Dane with you,” he retorts.

“Shut up. You’re so juvenile.”

“Me? I’m not the one who wanted to run away with him—”

“I never tried to run away with him—”

“Because we wouldn’t let you!”

I swing around to face him. “What’s this ‘we’ stuff? Mama and Pop sent me away, not you.”

“You don’t think I pulled Mama and Pop aside, told them you were sneaking out at night, chasing him all over the place?”

“Dane and I had a month of dates—that’s it.”

“But you were sneaking out at night.” Totally unrepentant, he stares down at me. “I let Dane know that if he so much as laid a hand on you, I’d tear him apart limb from limb—”

“You didn’t!”

“Shey Lynne, you were sixteen.”

“You did talk to him.”

“It wasn’t much of a talk. I think I used my fists.”

My stomach hurts. “You hit him?”

Brick doesn’t even blink. “Don’t feel bad for him. He got in a couple good licks, too. I think he was the one who burst my eardrum.”

“I can’t believe you fought your best friend.”

“You were my baby sister. I had to make sure he respected you.”

“Oh, he respected me all right. He never had anything to do with me after that.”

“Good.”

“Not good! Brick, I loved him—”

“You were a kid.”

“Charlotte was sixteen when she met you. You were seventeen. Why were your feelings legit and mine weren’t?”

“It’s different.”

“How so?” I demand.

“Dane’s six years older than you. He was twenty-two to your sixteen and you were jailbait—”

“Okay, I’ve got it,” Mason shouts, interrupting us. “The light’s fading fast. Let’s see if we can’t get another ten or twenty frames in before it’s gone.”

“This isn’t over,” I whisper to Brick as we take position.

“And you, Shey Lynne, you need to move on,” he responds, teeth gritted.

Our easy rapport is gone, and we stand stiffly next to each other. Mason works swiftly to take advantage of the little light that’s left, and Brick and I drop the subject of Dane. But once Mason wraps up, I stalk off, still furious.

In the guesthouse bathroom, I wipe off some of the extra makeup and change into a long tiered black skirt, a black embroidered blouse, and a chunky silver-and-turquoise belt I wear low on my hips. My stomach churns as I brush my hair.

For the past twenty years I thought Dane didn’t care and wasn’t interested in me, but in truth, Dane was warned off.

Maybe we wouldn’t have worked, but maybe we would have. What’s upsetting is that thanks to Brick’s overprotective instincts, we were never given a chance to figure it out for ourselves.

There’s a pounding on the bathroom door. “Mom, we’re here!” Cooper announces.

I put down the brush, open the door, and see my three dressed in jeans and boots. Hank and Bo are wearing collared polos, but Coop has on a western shirt. Coop’s really gone country, hasn’t he? “You guys look great. Ready for the party?”

“There are some hot girls here,” Bo says, grinning. “And Uncle Blue said there would be more coming later. I guess they’re still with their parents at the hotel but should be arriving in an hour.”

“Hot girls, poor you,” I tease, putting away my cosmetic bag and brush and turning off the light.

Tonight’s party is for Blue’s investors and prospective buyers, and he’s gone all out for it, with an authentic Texas hoedown, a country-western band from Fort Worth, and a DJ and caterer from Dallas.

After stowing my gear in the truck, I follow the boys to the caterer’s chuckwagon and smoker, where we inspect the slow-cooked ribs and tender beef brisket. Everything smells so good, and as we sniff around, mouths watering, the band begins to warm up.

Hank looks up at the colorful lights strung across the dining area and dance floor and then at the red gingham cloths and lanterns on the tables and grudgingly admits that it’s pretty cool. “Uncle Blue went all out,” he says. “They’ve even got real sawdust and everything.”

“So do we have to hang out with you?” Bo asks, craning his head to keep an eye out for the girls.

I know where his interest lies, and I bite back my smile. “No. I’ll hang out with Aunt Charlotte. You don’t need to babysit me. Have fun.”

I’ve just finished dinner and am chatting with Charlotte about the changes in her department at the hospital when Mason approaches and asks if I’ll dance.

It’s a line dance, and it’s been a long time since I did the Texas two-step, but I laughingly accept. He takes my hand, pulling me to my feet.

“I’m going to look silly,” I warn him. “I don’t even remember the steps.”

“It’ll come back to you,” he assures me as we take our place on the sawdust-covered dance floor.

And it does come back. Not immediately, but after a few times through, I’ve got it down. I stop trying to think and remember, and just move.

It crosses my mind that John would have a heart attack if he saw me now. He hates country-western music, loathes anything western. But these are my roots. I grew up attending roundups, rodeos, and county fairs, and I loved the hot, muggy summers and the cold, crisp winters and the scent of hay and freshly churned earth. I might have spent the past twenty years living in Milan and New York, but the country has stayed in my blood.

My boots thud in the fresh sawdust and, turning, I sway my hips and catch sight of my boys’ faces. They’re watching me with avid interest, having only ever seen me dance at weddings and bar mitzvahs. I don’t mind their grins and laughter, though. It’s just part of being Mom.

I make a face at the boys and then ignore them by focusing on Mason and the warm night and the music. Dancing, I feel the swish of my full skirt against my bare calves and the weight of my hair spilling down my back. Looking up, I get a glimpse of the colorful red and yellow lights strung overhead. Beyond the lights are tree branches and the moon. It’s such a beautiful night, and I feel an unexpected rush of pleasure.

I need to do this more. Dance. Laugh. Socialize.

I’ve become too isolated. I spend too much time with the boys or my brothers. I need girl time. I need positive girl energy.

Marta used to tell me I was so inspiring. She said I was the most positive person she knew. But the sunny, optimistic Shey has been gone a long time now, and I miss her.

I miss me.

I want the happy me back. The one who knew how to laugh and tell a good dirty joke and just be comfortable in my own skin.

I’m not sure what I need to do to get the happy me back, but I’m going to figure it out. I’ll make Shey a priority for a change.