The Sweet Spot (13 page)

“Wait! Char. Char?” Jimmy’s tiny tinny voice drifted up from the receiver. Sighing,
she put the phone back to her ear.

“Yes?”

“Look, Char. I don’t want to make you mad. But we have to talk about the business.
The young bulls are in the pasture eating their fool heads off. If I don’t start getting
them used to the bucking chutes and the trailer, we’re going to lose a whole season
with them. Kid Charlemagne and the Mouse aren’t going to buck forever, and—”

She sighed. Eight a.m., and she already had more to worry about than she had brain
cells. “I know, Jimmy, I know. I need some time to think about it, okay?” And she
sure couldn’t sort out her feelings with him on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, Charla, sure.” He hesitated, a sure sign he was marshalling arguments to launch
an attack of reason.

Yet reason had nothing to do with the boiling in her gut. “I am running seriously
late, Jimmy. I’ll call you later. Bye.” She mashed the “off” button before he could
get a word in and dropped the phone on the counter.

Jimmy was right. She knew it. The business couldn’t survive without good buckers to
advance the ranch’s reputation. Not to mention the price of their semen. The thought
of having him on the property again…

Don’t forget, for all his salesman’s arguments, he lied to you about the bimbo. He’s
got an agenda you don’t know about. You can’t trust a liar.

But what if the Jimmy she’d sensed in his touch the other night had been real? What
if her Jimmy was still in there somewhere? She remembered his hand on her elbow, remembered
his hands other places on countless moonlit nights.

She shook the whimsy out of her head. What would people say? Poor Charla Rae, bless
her heart, sucked in again.

Besides, if he came back, you’d lose your job; go back in this memory-stuffed house,
full time.
She heard the whisper of Valium from the box in the garage where she’d hidden it
from herself.

If she fell in that hole again, she’d never have the guts to climb back out.

Nope, she couldn’t risk it.

Are you sure there isn’t one more reason, Charla? Are you afraid if he was around
all the time you’d forget you’re mad at him? He’s a good-looking man, and he’s single
agai
—

“Mom. Cut me some slack. I’m doing my best here. Besides, even if I was worried about
that, which I am not, it would be another reason not to let him back on the place,
wouldn’t it?”

She straightened her shoulders. “Besides, I’ve done well, taking on the ranching chores,
birthing the calf, handling things.”

Her shoulders slumped under with the familiar weight of worry. She didn’t have the
physical strength to train the bulls, even if she had the knowledge, which she didn’t.

“There’s got to be another way.” Leaning her forearms on the counter, Char stared
at the dining room wall. If she could only lay her hands on some cash, she’d be okay.
All she needed was enough to hire a trainer for one season. By next year, maybe Jimmy’s
betrayal wouldn’t burn like the exposed meat of a raw wound. Surely it couldn’t. Could
it?

Her glance lingered on the dusty china hutch. One more thing to put on the li—“Wait.”
She sidestepped the counter and the table, to stand before the glass-fronted cabinet
housing her great-grandmother’s china. She squinted at the busy brown-and-cream pattern.
Horses pulled sleighs through muddy-looking snow, saltbox-style houses set off in
brown curlicue frames, men in tricorns escorted big-skirted women. Her mother had
dubbed the collection “the patriotic burden.” They’d laughed about the hideous stuff.
In her memory, it had never been out of the hutch save for an obligatory annual wash.
“Could I really?”

She could. It was ugly, but what did she expect from something over a hundred and
fifty years old? It had to be worth a pretty penny. Putting an Internet search at
the
top of the to-do list in her mind, she whistled on her way down the hall to wake her
dad.

Women.
JB dropped the cell phone on the truck seat. God, he was sick to death of them: their
judgmental attitudes and their uneven tempers.

He’d been married to Charla for twenty-two years and still couldn’t figure her out.
He pulled the toothpick from his mouth and tossed it out the window. Time to quit
sniffing around women and focus on the important stuff. Of his three jobs, only the
PBR event announcer remained. Reaching down, he loosened the buckle digging in his
gut.

Time to get his feet under him again.

There’s no way he could afford another apartment, given his job uncertainty as well
as the expenses for Ben’s nurse. If Charla knew he’d done that, she’d have thrown
a wall-eyed fit. But it was obvious she needed help with Ben. Help she was too proud
to ask for. He smiled to himself. He admired the hell out of that plucky woman, even
if her claws could shred him. Divorce or no, Ben was family. And JB intended to take
care of his own.

It was the “how” part he wasn’t sure of.

He still had no access to train his own bulls. Hell, he’d sleep in a barn, if he could
lease pasture space somewhere for them, but he couldn’t afford that either. The Galts
lived outside Kerrville, a quaint town about twenty miles from Fredericksburg. The
commute wouldn’t be too bad.

He turned off the county asphalt to the dirt road that led to Wiley’s house. When
dust blew in, he raised the windows and swerved to miss the worst of the washboard
ruts.

I should’ve pushed harder with Little Bit to let me back on the ranch.

“Oh yeah, you’re a real gentleman.” Guilt settled on him like the grit billowing onto
the uncovered boxes of belongings in the truck bed. “Lean on the grieving mother,
with an old man who’s losing it, who’s trying to run the ranch by herself.”

He could only blame himself for the situation. If he hadn’t lied about his relationship
with Jess, things may not have been so bad with Little Bit.

He snorted. He’d lived here all his life. Had he really thought that a juicy secret
like his affair with a coed wouldn’t hit the street like cars at the start of an Indy
race? But Char’s question that day had caught him flat-footed, and denial was the
first thing that fell out of his mouth. He’d meant to go back later, to explain. But
explain what, exactly? He knew Char. To her, a separation wouldn’t negate their marriage
vows.

Hell, it wouldn’t to him either if he’d been in his right mind.

Shit. Good thing he was swearing off women.

He turned at the white aluminum sign announcing “Galt’s Goats” onto the dirt track
that served as Wiley’s driveway, pulled up to the tiny aluminum-sided house, and shut
off the engine. He gathered his gifts from the floorboard: a bouquet of spring flowers
for Dana, a garish pink stuffed pig for the baby, and a six-pack for Wiley.

Grabbing his cowboy hat from the gun rack behind him, he settled it on his head. “Last
stop, JB. You can’t blow this one.”

Bella wore the black faux leather like chain mail. It hugged every curve, bend, and
hollow. As the woman crossed the sidewalk to the car, Char let her eyes slide
to the knee-high stiletto slouch boots with silver chains across the instep, jingling
like a cowboy’s spurs with every step.

She leaned across the seat and clicked open the passenger side door. “I didn’t think
to tell you, but women hereabouts don’t generally dress up for a trip to the Clip
’n Curl.”

Bella slinked in and slammed the door, her sea of black curls taking up almost as
much space as her body. Her earrings matched the silver chains on her boots, and one
strand stretched to a diamond stud in her nostril. She noticed Char’s stare. “Don’t
worry, it’s a magnet, not a piercing.” She reached for the seat belt. “I figure I’ve
got a closetful of New York badass black, and if there was ever a day for it, it’s
today.” The buckle snapped with a decisive
click
.

Char glanced down at her own outfit. An old-lady seersucker blue-and-white-striped
blouse with embroidered daisies, pedal pushers, and slip-on tennis shoes. “How about
I drop you off and I’ll go shopping? I owe you a manicure for working on the ranch,
but I don’t need to go.”

Bella stared through the windshield, a muscle working in her jaw. “If you think I’m
going into that wolf’s den alone, you’d better think again.”

Char chuckled and put the car in gear. “Don’t tell me a tough city girl like you is
afraid of a bunch of good ol’ country gals. I don’t believe it.” She wheeled out of
the apartment complex into the traffic on North Washington.

“You’re kidding, right? Those women would eat their own young, then gossip while they
picked their teeth with
the bones.” Bella fingered the rings on her necklace as if they were prayer beads.

“Why don’t you have your rings resized? I know a great jeweler. In fact, we’ll be
going right by there.”

“No, way. Russ gave them to me, and they’re not coming off my body.” Bella’s hand
fisted over the rings. “Not for anything.”

Char turned at the Nimitz Home and Museum at East Main and headed downtown. “When
am I going to meet this mystery man, anyway?”

“Right now he’s only home for two days at a time.” Bella dropped a wink. “I’m not
letting him out of bed longer than it takes to pay for a pizza.”

An ancient memory broke the surface of Char’s brain. She and Jimmy, just married,
living in the apartment. Sex, no longer illicit, became their favorite hobby. They’d
whiled away the weekends playing in bed. She’d imprinted his long body lines into
her brain, the taste of his skin onto her tongue. And he… he had made her scream.

A small puff of nostalgia escaped her lips before she could catch it. “You sound so
happy. What’s he like?”

Bella’s tense features relaxed. “He’s one of the original computer geeks. You know,
one of those chess club, D&D, gamer guys from high school?” She turned to Char with
a wicked smile. “He’s now the chief information officer of a multinational credit
firm.” She sat back with a sigh. “And he loves me. He loved me when I met him my first
year of college, when I was fat and pretty darned unlovable.”

“Do you really believe your weight—”

“No, I don’t mean my weight. You may find this hard to believe, but at one time in
my life, I had a Rock of Gibraltar–sized chip on my shoulder.”

“No!”

Bella chuckled and fluffed her hair. “I haven’t always been the model of deportment
you see before you today.”

Char wheeled into the parking lot and slid into one of the few remaining spots. She
turned off the car and grabbed her purse from the floorboard.

Bella sat assessing her. “Have you ever thought of getting some highlights?”

Char shook her head.

“Nothing crazy. I’m talking about a lighter shade of blond on the top layer and around
your face.” Bella cocked her head. “It would brighten your skin and set off those
cornflower blue eyes.”

Char looked in the rearview mirror at herself. Same blond, shoulder-length hair she’d
had since high school, caught up in the usual ponytail. But the light through the
sunroof shone off the silver. When had that happened? Char ducked her head.
Yeah, and then comes a touch-up every six weeks at forty bucks a pop.
“Nah, maybe just a cut.” Char pulled herself out of the car. Bella unfurled from
it like a starlet on the red carpet. She looked from herself to Bella. “We look like
a joke about the grandma and the dominatrix.”

Bella let out a startled bark of laughter. Then her face sobered as she looked toward
the Clip ’n Curl. “I’m regretting the decision to leave my leather whip home.”

As they approached the salon, Bella’s steps shortened, and her chin got higher.

She balked at the door, a little girl’s uncertainty on her face. Char leaned over,
pulled the door open, and held it for her friend. “Come on, sista. I’ll show you round
the ’hood.”

They walked in laughing.

Saturday was the busiest day at the salon. Every station was occupied, with several
women perched on floral couches rifling through magazines in the waiting area. One
by one, the women fell silent. Char could almost hear the necks creak as faces swiveled
toward the door. The women on dryer row eyed them from under their clear plastic helmets.
Char waved to Penny, her hairdresser, who pretended to have her hands full of electric
curlers for Ms. Richardson’s steel-gray hair. She gave a tiny shake of her head.

Well, Bella’s outfits did tend to smack the eye. The girls would settle once they
got used to it. She took her friend’s elbow, led her to the manicurist, and put her
in the chair. “Now, Denise, I owe this lady a lot, so you give her the works, y’hear?”
Her voice rang in the quiet room. She turned and, cocking an eyebrow, stared them
down. Glances sidled away, and the interrupted conversations started up once more.
Though she felt sure the subject had changed.

She patted Bella’s shoulder, then strode to Penny’s now-vacant chair. “Penny, I do
believe it’s officially summer. That calls for a change.” She plopped down and looked
at her tired face in the lighted mirror. “I need highlights.” She tilted her head.
“And maybe some bangs. What do you think?”

Two hours later, Char tilted her chin to see the back of her head in the mirror Penny
held.

“You look fabulous.” Bella stood behind her chair, beaming at her in the lighted mirror.
“Five years younger, at least.”

Char swallowed. She looked so different. The highlighted
blond bangs and wispy sides framed her thin face, softening the hard lines, setting
off her eyes. She didn’t dislike the woman who stared back at her; it’s just that
she wasn’t sure who she was.
Well, given the past year, maybe that’s not a bad thing.
She reached for her checkbook. “I think I like it.”

Bella chimed in. “Well, good, because we’re going for ice cream to celebrate. My treat.”

As Char scribbled the check, her ears picked up threads of the beauty shop babble
around her.