Splinters (16 page)

Since the story aired a few days ago, I’ve been offered three new modeling contracts and a pair of scripts to read and consider. For a moment, it feels wrong to profit. But why should it be wrong? I still need to work. I won’t hide away and I won’t pretend nothing happened. What Dean did matters in my life, and spreading the word about how I’m fighting and standing strong is the right thing to do.

And besides, I need to do
some
thing to stop myself from thinking of Duke.

It’s impossible, though. Even sitting here in my Upper West Side apartment, reading a gripping script of political scandal and mafia mentality, a golden slash of sunlight on the curtains takes me back to the ranch. I remember the heat baking down on me, the earthy scents, and the presence of the man himself. I want to be back there.

Distraction. I need a new distraction. Taking out my cell, I tap the Twitter app. My fans are always good for entertainment. Whether tweeting to me or about me, they make it easy to get lost in their conversations. I check my connections first and one near the top snags my attention because there’s a photo. A photo of a scene I know intimately.

An open wardrobe and a blue and white striped shirt on a hanger.

Won’t ever forget
, says cowboyIRL.

Tears burn my eyes and I cover my mouth as I swallow hard. I suddenly can’t remember why I’m here and not there. Duke misses me. Maybe wants me still?

Why am I not there?

Dean. Damn it. He’s still missing, no sign in fifteen days, and as obstacles go in budding relationships, that’s an insurmountable one. Duke can’t abandon his ranch to come here, and I can’t risk the man’s brother coming after me again by going back there.

I’d left thinking it would be stupid of us to keep any communication lines open. But I can’t resist this. He’s right there, forty-two minutes ago, and thinking of me. Where’s the harm?

I won’t either
, I reply and feel better, more connected. Honestly, he doesn’t need to answer. Knowing how he feels, responding in kind, is enough for me. For now. Maybe when things calm down, when Dean’s found, then we—

Didn’t think you’d answer. This really you?

O-kay. I didn’t consider he might just want to send a thought out into the ether. But it’s Twitter and it’s verified, so of course it’s me.

Really me. Not want me to answer?

I hold my breath.

Hoped
.

I jump in my seat, a joyful whoop bursting out, and the script falls off my lap to the floor. Trying to tamp down this emotional burst of omigod-he-called, I take deep breaths. I have to sit on my right hand to stop it from fluttering.

Except… What should I say now? Tell him I miss him? Apologize? This is— It’s— I can’t think. So I don’t.

Hi! :) :) :)

LOL :) Hey, baby

Oh, I’m melting! He can still call me baby, even after everything.

Suddenly, up pop some of my fans…

Who’s the hot cowboy?

He called you baby! Aww <3

And I’m frozen because, yes, this is a public forum. Even if I delete my tweets, his are still there, and—because
of course
they would—someone’s probably taken a screen-grab of this already. We’re stuck with it. For all my insistence that I’m out and proud, I’ve never had a public relationship.

Do I want that?

Then Duke writes,
LOL forgot you’re a celebrity
.

And that’s just the sweetest thing. Honestly. The man forgot the one part most people don’t bother to see beyond. He just keeps getting better.

And I’m here, and he’s there, the both of us alone. I throw my head back and howl at the ceiling. Damn Dean and his disappearing act. If that bastard would just get caught, I could be all over his brother right now. I could have my life back fully. I could walk down a street without feeling like I might be attacked. I could be happy.

I think he liiiikes you!

What’s your name cowboy?

Send us a pic!

Oh, crap. I open a direct message to Duke and drop 140 characters worth of advice on what they might do with anything he shares. There couldn’t be that many men named Duke in the States—well maybe in ranching places—so they could track him down. One slip-up about where he is, and they could swarm. I’d had plenty of marketing people tip off paparazzi as to my location just for the publicity.

Then some troll pops up with:
Is he why you were really missing?

I smack out a reply.
You think I’d make up getting roofied and violated to cover for a rendezvous? Wake up
. And then I regret getting snappish and disregarding my own advice as soon as that bit of brilliance becomes Internet permanent.

It’s no joke
, Duke writes.
Back off
.

Sweet of him to step up and protect me, but he’s playing with fire. Some of these people are just waiting for a reason to explode. The doubter does, spouting off with misspelled curses and slurs. A couple others taunt Duke with why he gets to talk to them like that—like they have more claim to me—and one poor, misguided soul attempts to diffuse the situation with links to my interview and date rape statistics.

A private message comes through.
So your fans are a touch rabid
.

I smile, send him a wink, and say,
Do not feed the fans. Some fling poo
.

Noted.

It’ll die down.

Don’t care about them
.

I have to take the chance.
Me?

Yes. Miss you, baby
.

Smiling through tears at his honesty, I send him mine.

Me, too. Desperately
.

We do a week of Twitter messages and public posts tweaking my fans into a romantic frenzy. It’s fun, flirty, and I make a few news bites online and on TV.

But I’ve just found Duke’s phone number is in my Twitter messages. The number and one line:
If you want
. I can’t stop staring at it.

Should we really be doing this to ourselves?

I pace the length of my apartment while reactivating the screen on my phone any time it dares to dim. I really must think about this logically.

First, nothing’s changed. The giant obstacle keeping us apart—Dean—is still firmly in place. Or
not
in place, because they’ve had no leads. He could be anywhere, or still sneaking around the ranch without anyone even knowing. Elsie and I had mistaken him for Duke, after all. Me twice, actually. What’s to say others haven’t? So, if I went back and saw where my relationship with Duke could go, there’s nothing to guarantee Dean won’t strike again. Maybe worse than before.

Therefore, I shouldn’t call Duke.

My heart squeezes, and I press my hand to my chest.
Not fair
. If I call him and we keep going, then what? I can’t expect him to abandon the ranch for New York City.
Ugh, my God
… That would be cowboy death, wouldn’t it? And if I can’t go to Texas for fear of another attempt on my life, and if he can’t come here because there’s nothing but me here for him— I mean, I can’t be the total sum of his existence, that’s not healthy. So that leaves—

A spark of light hits me. I stop pacing and look over at the intrusion.

My new glass bottle of maple syrup glitters in the sunlight slanting across the breakfast bar. The burnt gold color is the same as Duke’s eyes. There’s some whine to my sigh.

That’s a sign. It
has
to be. I have to act on it, right? Divine intervention. Who am I to ignore that? It would be sacrilegious or something. I’m not grasping at straws, it’s destiny.

I call him. Hold my breath.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Um, it’s me. I mean, it’s—”

“Al.” He draws my name out like a sigh.

I close my eyes, smiling. “Hi.”

“Hey. Thanks for callin’. I’m glad you did.”

“And it only took me twenty minutes to pluck up the courage,” I say on a chuckle.

He grunts. “Lots has happened in those twenty minutes.”

“Oh.” I open my eyes and sit down. “If you’re busy… Or if you changed your—”

“No, baby. Nothin’ like that.” I can hear rustling in the background. “Suzy’s sister’s gone into labor. I’m out in the barn with her.”

I perk up. “Suzy? That’s the horse I rode.”

“Yep. This is her sister Sandra Dee.”

I grin and close my eyes again, just listening to his voice. “You give your horses adorable names. Suzy and Sandra Dee? Did you name her after
Grease
or
Gidget
?”

“
Gidget
. Ma liked her. And it’s Suzy Lee.” He gruffly clears his throat. “Actually.”

A snorting snicker escapes before I can rein it in. I notice he didn’t try to insist Mia named them to save his manly pride.

“You’re just so sweet. And, by the way, I adore both
Grease
and
Gidget
.”

More blustery noises of embarrassment. “Anyways, they’re both pregnant, but Suzy’s only a couple months and—”

I gasp. “
Duke Walters
. You put me on a pregnant horse?”

He chuckles, and it sends a shiver down my spine to have that rumbly sound right there in my ear. “What? She still needs exercise, and you’re a lightweight.”

I try not to preen at that compliment. “But even so, that’s probably why she did that bouncing thing to me. You should be more sensitive to her feelings.”

“Sensitive to—” A loud, unhappy horse noise blasts over whatever else he tries to say.

“Good God, is the baby coming out
right now
?” I can’t help clutching my imagined pearls. As much as I want to listen to Duke, I’m less inclined to hear the entire equine birthing process.

Duke murmurs, “Easy, girl. There’s my sweet gal.”

“Is she all right?” I whisper.

“It’s her first foal. She’s not real happy right now.”

Some odd bit of acting lessons kicks in as I consider the situation from Sandra Dee’s perspective. “Does she understand what’s happening? Her instincts might be active, but she could be quite confused right now.”

“Sandra Dee,” he flatly intones, “you’re pregnant and about to give birth. Brace yourself, hon.”

I roll my eyes and hear someone else laughing over the line.

Duke says, “It’s Al.”

All I can hear is indistinct mumbling and more rustling, probably boots in straw. Finally, Duke grumbles out, “Don’t gimme that shit.” More talking and a definite laugh. “No, you stay in here. I’m goin’ outside.”

I listen to his boots clack on wood until it’s quiet again. “Who was that?”

“Toby.”

I fidget with the crease of my pant leg. “Does he not like us talking?”

“No, he’s grinnin’ like a damn fool.”

That’s approval, right? Toby’s glad Duke and I are talking. That makes me smile. “If he starts singing the kissing song, smack him with something for me.”

“The what song?”

I clear my throat before singing, “Al and Duke sittin’ in a tree, K-I—”

“Aw hell.” Duke snorts. “You hush up about that.”

I giggle at his gruffness. “Don’t you want to kiss me?”

I bite my lip. I said it teasingly, but I shouldn’t have said it at all. Why bring that up? It’s not like we can kiss again now.

But he makes a quiet moaning sound. “’Course I do. Every time I think of you.”

I take a shaky breath. Closing my eyes again, I touch my lips and imagine Duke’s kiss. Soft lips, mustache scratch, and the way he cradled the back of my head… I gulp, shifting in my seat as want pools inside me. I angle my phone away from my mouth so he’s less likely to hear the way I’m nearly panting.

“You’re thinkin’ ’bout it, ain’tcha?” There’s a devilish tone to his voice.

“Maybe.” But my voice is breathless so he has to know.

He hums. “I keep thinkin’ ’bout how you kiss me.”

“H-how do I kiss you?”

“Slow, like you’re tastin’ me. And the things you do with that tongue make me wild.” He groans, making me gasp. “How you touch my face… The way you run your fingers through my hair… Aw, baby, it’s beautiful kissin’ you.”

I curl over my lap, head down like I’m braced for impact. “I wish…” slips out as I fall further into him.

“I know, baby. Me, too.” He clears his throat. “Once we track down Dean and get it…” He sighs tiredly, the passion gone from his voice. “Get it sorted with the law, then you and me can try this again. If you… If you want to, a’course.”

“I do… I-I do want to.”

“Good.” There’s a smile in his tone. “That’s good.”

I don’t know what to say now, but it’s all right because Sandra Dee sounds unhappy again. I can hear Duke talking softly to her, movements in the straw, and a quick and quiet conversation with Toby about sending for the vet since it’s Sandra Dee’s first baby. I try not to recall that scene from
City Slickers
where Billy Crystal loses his watch up inside that cow while assisting with little Norman’s birth. As adorable as that baby cow was afterward, he came with a whole lot of goo. I didn’t want to imagine Duke doing the same to Sandra Dee.
Blerg
.

“As much as I wanna talk, darlin’, I—”

“It’s fine. You need to go help bring a baby horse into the world.”

He chuckles and I can hear his boots in the straw again, so he must’ve gone back inside the barn. “Foal, and yes, I do. We could keep doin’ this, if you want. Callin’ whenever we get the need.”