The Sweet Spot (18 page)

“I wanted to learn to ride, but I don’t know about this cutting business.”

Char snorted. “Well, you sure look like a cowgirl, anyway.” Bella’s jeans were skin
tight, but at least they were Wranglers, complete with iron-faded knife creases, workday
boots, a counterpane white-and-blue-striped shirt, and a raffia cowboy hat. “I’d love
to see your closet.”

“Closet
s
.” Bella led the horse through the gate Char held open.

“What is it with you and clothes?” Char led her horse through, then fastened the gate
behind them.

Bella thought a moment before answering. “Two things. First, you can’t imagine what
it’s like, being really large. If you go away for the weekend and forget your jeans
or a bra, you stop at the nearest mall and buy it, right?”

They walked side by side along the fence line, horses shuffling behind them. Char
nodded.

“Not me. They didn’t stock my size. Have a seam blowout or wardrobe malfunction? You’d
better carry a needle and thread. What shopping I did was mostly through catalogs.
One of the best things about losing the weight is buying clothes off the rack.

“The second part is the real reason, though.” Bella
stopped to watch the calves chase each other in the next pasture. “When I was young,
I so envied the girls in the latest styles. They looked so together. I thought, if
I only looked like them, I’d have it together too. As if you bought the lifestyle
with the clothes.” Her smile seemed sad. “When I finally got down to a size eight
in college, I bought the store. Man, did I strut that campus!”

Char could imagine, having witnessed her exit from the Clip ’n Curl.

“When I found out popularity wasn’t something you bought off the rack, I was pissed.
The popular girls still treated me like I had two heads.” Bella’s smile turned wicked.
“So I got even.”

“I think I can guess how.”

“I outdressed them. If tight skirts were in, I painted mine on. If heels got popular,
I strapped on five-inch stilettos.” She faced Pork Chop, stuck a foot in the stirrup,
and swung aboard, Char did the same. “Lately, though, I’ve been thinking about crutches.”

“In case you fall off your stilettos?” Char reined her horse closer.

“No, Charla Rae.” Bella threw her an eye roll. “Have you ever had an ankle sprain?
I did once, a bad one. The doctor handed me crutches and told me to stay on them for
four weeks.

“Well, I stumped around on the damned things for three weeks, until one day it occurred
to me: If I didn’t try to walk without them, how did I know I still needed them?

“So I tried. Sure enough, my ankle was healed.” Bella tilted her hat to block the
late-afternoon sun. “I’ve been thinking, maybe I don’t need the great clothes rebellion
anymore. Then again, maybe I do. But if I don’t try, I’ll never know.”

They ambled along the fence line, Pork Chop reaching to snatch mouthfuls of long grass.
“Crutches are great things to lean on when you’re hurting, but after that, they’re
a lot of work.

“I’ve got closets full of New York badass black and cool country clothes. Maybe it’s
time to find out who I am.” She squinted at the horizon. “What I’ve been doing out
here on your ranch may not be it for me, but it’s close.

“Enough of my drama.” Bella turned to her. “I’m sorry, Char. I feel responsible for
that jerk of a trainer. And the fact that JB’s back. How are you holding up?”

Char struggled not to shift in the saddle under Bella’s canny gaze. Instead she studied
the adjoining pasture where a mounted figure bunched cattle in the distance. “It takes
some getting used to. I’m not giving up my outside chores, so it’s… awkward. We’re
circling each other, trying to figure out how to do this.” She sighed. “I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah, but under that. Are there any, you know, feelings?”

“Like I said, I’m exhausted. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

As they trotted onto the packed dirt of the barn dooryard, the sun seemed to burn
through a magnifying glass. The still air smelled of heat and dust. A runnel of sweat
tickled down Char’s neck as she kicked out of her stirrups and slid off her mount.

Bella scratched Pork Chop’s head under her forelock, where she liked it. “It’s always
so blasted hot in this yard.” She took off her hat and waved it at her heat-reddened
face. “If I were you, I’d plant a shade tree.”

Char’s glance flicked across the yard, as if the stump were magnetic. A strangled
sound finally brought her head around.

Bella stood, hand over her mouth, her face a study in horror. “Oh, hell, Char, I’m
sorry,” she whispered.

“You didn’t know.” She shook her head and tried to smile. “That tree stood over a
hundred years. Mom and Dad planned the layout of the house and barn so that the tree
would shade this yard.”

She took the reins from Bella, her gaze straying once again to the stump. “I remember
lying in bed, after, hearing the sound of chopping.

“Jimmy cut that tree down, then cut it up, with nothing but an ax. Got to where I
heard it in my dreams. Then I’d wake up and someone would be there with a pill. The
doctor said I’d get too ‘worked up’ if I didn’t take them.” She closed her eyes and
lifted her face to the soft caress of a stray westerly breeze. “I thought I’d go mad
with that sound.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
It went on for days.

“Until it stopped.” Char opened her eyes. “Then I thought I’d go mad in the silence.”
Something pricked her memory. She frowned. Something about the accident. Her brain
could touch the edge of what bothered her, but she couldn’t quite…

“Hey, Char.” Bella held her elbow and waved a hand in front of her face. “Come on,
Hon, let’s put the horses up. We’re gonna have a heat stroke if we stand here much
longer.”

After shooing Bella home, Char unsaddled Bar B first. She’d just finished currying
and putting him up when Jimmy walked into the barn’s breezeway. He sidled up to Pork
Chop and loosened the cinch.

“What are you doing?” She pulled the sliding stall door shut behind her.

“Unsaddling the horse.”

She strode over. “I’ve got it.”

“This saddle’s heavy. I’ll—”

He released the leather strap when she swatted at his hand. “I’ve
got
it, Jimmy.” She tugged at the stubborn knot.

He stepped back a pace. “Suit yourself.”

Jittery from his scrutiny and a lack of personal space, she finally wrested the strap
free. Now came the hard part. Pork Chop’s back seemed ten feet tall, Char was short,
and the saddle was heavy. On a good day, she barely managed without sprawling in the
dirt beneath it.

Please, God, let this be a good day.
She took a deep breath and pulled.

The saddle and blanket cooperated, sliding off the horse and onto her. Jimmy stepped
closer but flinched at her glare.

Stifling a grunt, she got her arms around the sweaty, bulky weight and leaned back.
The stirrups slid off the horse, thumping to the packed dirt.

Jimmy raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender and retreated to a straw
bale outside the stall door to watch. Between the heavy strain and her embarrassment,
Char imagined her face to be an attractive shade of eggplant.

Now all she had to do was haul the saddle to the tack room without dropping it or
tripping over the dangling stirrups. She waddled away slowly, knowing that from the
back, she must look like a bear humping a football. Despite the trouble, she managed
it, with only one heart-stopping toe-stub at the door to the tack room.

She returned, snagging a bucket of brushes and her stool along the way. Keeping her
back to Jimmy, she set the stool next to the horse, stepped up, and started brushing.

Jimmy’s comment came from the cheap seats. “Well, now that you don’t have to pay the
trainer, I expect you’ll be off to buy that four-wheeler Bella mentioned. You won’t
have to mess with Pork Chop anymore.”

With a two-handed grip on the currycomb, she leaned in to penetrate the horse’s coat.
Pork Chop grunted with pleasure. “I’ll have you know, this happens to be the best
cutting horse in Fredericksburg.” She pointed the brush at Jimmy. “She and I are a
team, so show a little respect. And she’s Buttermilk to you, Bucko.”

Jimmy snorted a laugh. Charla turned back to the horse and smiled.

Silence spun out as she bent to her task, working up a sweat. This was one of her
favorite times of the day. Grooming allowed her mind to wander, assess her progress,
and cross completed items off her mental list. Yet today she couldn’t focus.

His deep voice intruded on her stuttering thoughts. “You’ve changed.”

She stepped off the stool and held it in front of her. “Not as much as you, I’ll warrant.”

She walked around Pork Chop’s head, set the stool down, and began brushing the other
side.

He colored. “No, I mean your hair. You’ve worn it the same since high school.”

“Then I guess it was high time.”

“Takes some getting used to, but I like it.”

She glanced over the horse’s back to see Jimmy, leaning
against the stall door, feet crossed at the ankle, head cocked, looking her over.
She felt like a prime heifer. “You’re assuming you still have a vote.”

“A vote? Nope. Only an opinion.”

She ducked her head and whispered into Pork Chop’s side, “Yeah, after all, you’re
still breathing.” Dropping the brush into the bucket, she hopped down and moved under
the horse’s head. “We need to talk, Jimmy. Things are different around here.
I’m
different.”

“I noticed.”

His tone gave no clue to how he meant that. “I’m not the little housewife anymore.
I intend to stay involved, out here, in the business.”

He thought a moment, squinting up at her. “You sure you wouldn’t rather get a job
in town?”

Her anger hit the end of its leash, biting and snapping. “I have as much right to
the business as you do, Jimmy. I’ve worked my butt off these past months to keep this
place running, and if you think I’m going to tuck tail for the kitchen because you’re
on the property, you can just—”

“You’re off the pills, aren’t you, Little Bit?”

She pulled a rag from her back pocket and wiped down Pork Chop’s face. The concern
in his voice and calm, assessing look had her nerves dancing like water drops on a
hot skillet.

“Well, good on you.” He stood, the shadows gathering in the hollows of his face. He
looked old, gaunt, tired. “Look, Char, I’m not trying to chase you off. There’s plenty
enough work to go around. I just thought a job in town would bring you more money.
Take some of the worry off you.”

With a last look at her, he settled his hat and walked for the barn door, head down.

She stood in the middle of the aisle, left holding a squirming bag of emotion.
Damn you, Jimmy. How dare you make me feel bad for you?

P
eople go to cemeteries every day.” Char gritted her teeth as she reached for the car
keys, hanging on a peg next to the back door. But saying it didn’t make it happen.
Resolve, so carefully gathered, dissolved. Dropping her hand, she glanced out the
storm door to the few puffy clouds the dawn revealed.
There’s nothing saying I have to go today.

Besides, it would do her heart good to work in the garden—to finish the job she’d
begun that awful day she’d fired Gandy. But she also knew the disappointment of letting
herself down would bleed into whatever delicate peace she found in the garden.

She didn’t even have her father as an excuse; he was at the feedlot with Junior.

Char glanced down at the pantsuit she’d so carefully
selected.
I’m already dressed. Might as well get it over with.
Her stomach did a roller-coaster drop and a shiver of longing ran through her as
she pictured the box in the garage where she’d stashed the Valium.

Before her capricious mind could change again, she snatched the keys, opened the door,
and marched for the car.
Remember what Bella said about crutches. If you never let go, you’ll never know if
you still need them.

Rounding the corner of the house, the bedraggled flower beds caught her eye. In spite
of her neglect, those trusty glads had managed to bloom again this year. The memory
of planting them, with Benje, stopped her in her tracks.

He’d been five and had wanted to help. She’d dug the first hole, carefully explaining
which end of the bulb went in first. Convinced he had the concept, she worked on the
rose bushes. Returning a few minutes later, she caught him planting a bulb upside
down. When she corrected him, he told her he’d done it on purpose; he wanted the people
in China to have pretty flowers too.

Char brushed a tear that threatened to ruin her makeup and inspected the plants. The
red flowers had some brown edges and looked a bit bug-eaten. She’d planned to stop
at Walmart and pick up a bouquet on the way to the cemetery, but… Her stomach settled
a bit. “These are Benje’s flowers. He’s not going to care about a few bugs.” She headed
for the tool shed to find her clippers.

Later, she drove past Saint Mark’s, wondering why the church parking lot bristled
with cars, parishioners trailing to the front door. Women flitted like pastel finches
around their coat-and-tied husbands.

Oh my gosh, it’s Sunday!
How could she have forgotten?
Char hadn’t set foot in church since the funeral. She hadn’t planned on
not
going, but… She winced at a lancet stab of guilt. She still hadn’t called Reverend
Mike to thank him for referring Rosa. Her mama had taught her better.

She imagined sliding back into the social current of Fredericksburg—the questions
from her neighbors, the pitying looks from her friends—the starting over.
I’m not strong enough for that yet.
She loosened her death grip on the steering wheel.
Let go of one crutch at a time.