The Sweet Spot (22 page)

They walked to the practice paddock JB had set up, each to their own thoughts. JB
looked over at Travis.
Terrified.

Just like you were, the first time. It’s going to be great, working with a kid again.

This should be Benje, walking beside me to his first bull.

Something bitter rose in him, burning his eyes, making them water.

Would there always be a hole in the world where his son should be?

Char hummed the song that had been running through her head all day, an old show tune
her mother used to clean the house to.

A rock band in the 1960s had covered the song, but Char loved the original. A lilting,
longing song about love in the spring. The long-handled nippers were awkward to use,
but they didn’t faze Pork Chop. She dozed in the stall, one foot between Char’s knees,
unimpressed with her pedicure.

A rich bass voice outside the stall joined in, humming. She stopped, startled, then,
smiling, sang the next line.

JB entered the stall, singing. He put his thumbs in his pockets and stuck out his
chest.

Char dropped Pork Chop’s leg and straightened.

They finished the song together, his resonant base singing the melody, and her mezzo-soprano
weaving in the harmony. They’d discovered in high school that their voices were good
together.

The last note hung in the air. The sun came out in Jimmy’s happy grin, and Char felt
her day lighten. When he smiled, the years fell away, and he looked like the boy she’d
fallen in love with all those years ago. Feeling her face heat, she retrieved the
rasp from the straw and lifted Pork Chop’s hoof to file the rough edges. “How did
Travis do?”

Jimmy reached for the rasp, then apparently thought better of it. “Well, he’s going
to be sleeping on an ice pack tonight, but he did real good. The kid is small and
compact, and he has good awareness of his body.” Leaning against the wall, he tucked
his hands in his armpits and crossed his ankles. “He doesn’t know a thing about bulls
though. Apparently he and his mom moved here not long ago from Ohio.”

“No dad?”

“Just a steady stream of boyfriends from what I gather. He said his mom chose Fredericksburg
because of his great-uncle Junior. Sounds like she’s been down on her luck.”

Char put the final touches on the hoof, dropped it, and straightened. “Then she’s
lucky that she’s got family close.”

“If Travis wants to stick with this and work hard, I think he could be ready to join
the high school team by fall.”

She gathered her armload of tools and, looking up at
him, tried to smile. “You know, Jimmy, you should find a woman who can give you kids.
You’re good with them, and they’re good for you.”

“No kid is going to take Benje’s place.” He walked up to her and looked down, the
pain stark on his face. “You think I’m so shallow that I’d lose my son and then go
make another?” He strode to the stall door, then turned back. “I
had
my boy,” he said before he stalked out.

God, the pain in his face.
He’d looked like she’d just torn out his guts. Char stood stunned a moment, then
dropped everything and followed him. “Jimmy, wait!” She trotted to catch up. “I’m
sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” When she touched his arm, he stopped. “I only meant
that you’re so good with kids, it’d be a shame if you didn’t have more of your own.”

Silence descended as he studied her face, to see if she was telling the truth. That
hurt. But she supposed she’d earned it. She’d closed herself off from him for so long.
Why should he believe her?

She’d taken for granted that Jimmy was hard, that he didn’t hurt as badly as she did.
The wariness in his eyes now made her ashamed of herself. Just because he couldn’t
show his feelings didn’t mean he didn’t have them. Yet the thought of apologizing,
exposing her vulnerability to the man who’d run the last time she really needed him?
It felt like stepping off the curb in front of a car. But if she’d learned anything
in the past year, she’d learned that the road to denial ended at a box in the garage.

Jimmy hadn’t so much run as gotten out of the way. She’d been so crazy back then,
could she blame him for that?

The muscles in her torso tightened, forming a shield, just in case. “I’ve been self-absorbed
and selfish, Jimmy.
I’ve hurt you, and I’m so sorry.” She tried with her gaze to tell him how much. “You
and I have changed a lot in the past year. We don’t know each other anymore. Let’s
make a pact. From now on, we both give each other the benefit of the doubt. If there’s
two ways to take a comment, we’ll take it the good way, and leave it at that. Okay?”

She knew the gears of his mind turned from his intent expression. His face slowly
relaxed. He sighed heavily. “Okay, Little Bit.”

He walked away, his voice gruff. But she took hope from the sound of her pet name
on his lips.

JB figured he had the pick of the litter as far as the bedrooms went. He couldn’t
get enough of the night-released smell of grass drifting into the screened porch,
and in the coolness, the humidity felt almost refreshing. He reached down to pull
the drawstring of the long cotton pants—his sleepwear concession to living with a
woman who was not his wife. Something seemed different. He realized he had an unobstructed
view of his feet. He ran his hand over his recently flattened belly, able to feel
the muscle beneath for the first time in years.
Guess worry does have one good use.

The brick floor felt cool on the soles of his feet as he crossed to turn off the lamp
at the head of his cot. He stripped back the covers to lie down, one arm under his
head, feeling the familiar poke of the torture bar in the center of his back.

He missed having a bed large enough to sprawl in. He missed having walls around him
while he slept. He missed the familiar routine of bedtime, when Charla would come
out of the bathroom, smelling of the cucumber skin cream
she’d used on her face. He scrubbed his knuckles across his breastbone, to ease the
ache there. Hell, he even missed her old-fashioned pajamas. After they were married,
he’d bought her little scraps of lace to wear to bed, but they seldom found their
way out of the dresser drawer. He came to appreciate Charla in flannel, transforming
from stodgy frump to his willing, curvy sexpot with the unwrapping.

He and Jess had always been separate in bed. She’d kept a delicate distance between
them, a demilitarized zone he was not welcome to pass. Saying she felt smothered by
his arms at night, she sprawled on her half of the bed, and he lay curled in a ball
on his.

Not Charla. She’d snuggle close, head on his arm, almost purring, while he told her
of his day. He loved the smell of her hair spread on the pillow and the feel of it
wrapped in his hands.

He didn’t care that she fell asleep while he talked. He kind of liked that his voice
was the last thing she heard as she drifted off.

Days later, JB strode for the Peterbilt, parked on the far side of the house. Why
hadn’t he thought of this before? He must have left his champion softball cap in the
truck the last time he drove it. Opening the door, he used the handle to haul himself
up.

“Hoooboy.” Liquid heat poured over him. “Hotter’n the hubs of hell in here,” he grumbled,
eyes scanning the interior. He pulled the seat forward to riffle through the flotsam
behind it.

Nothing. Kneeling on the driver’s seat, he dug behind the passenger seat. Nope.

When he sat, his knee cracked against something
hard. “What the heck?” He wiped a rivulet of sweat out of his eye and scanned the
floorboards. Bolted to the brake, accelerator, and clutch pedal were metal footplates
on welded extensions. So that’s how Charla drove the Peterbilt solo. He scratched
at the sweat that rolled from the back of his cowboy hat. Very clever. He took one
last hopeful glance around. No cap. He climbed from the cab and closed the gate to
hell. Ninety-five in the shade, but it felt comparatively cool out here.

He heard Travis’s rattletrap long before it made the turn at the corner of the house
and settled, coughing and sputtering, in the yard.

They were standing by the car, talking, when Ben opened the back door of the house
and stepped out. He looked from JB to Travis and back. “Who’s this, JB?”

“Ben Enwright, meet Travis Beauchane. Bull rider in training.”

Travis wiped a hand on his jeans, then stuck it out. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

Ben broke into a huge grin. “Well, it’s good to see the next generation step up. Welcome,
son. Ya’ll come on in and get washed up for dinner.”

Shit.
JB hated this. The awkwardness, the embarrassment, for himself and for Charla. But
most of all, he hated it for Ben. Travis looked at JB, unsure of what to do. “We just
ate, Ben, but we appreciate—”

“Oh, hogswallop. How long you been here, JB? You know dinner is at noon. Now get yourselves
inside and cleaned up. I’ll tell Charla Rae to set two more plates.” The screen door
slapped behind him.

He grabbed Travis’s arm when he would have started toward the barn. “Oh no, you don’t.
I’m not going in there
alone.” He dragged Travis to the door by the sleeve of his T-shirt. “We’ll just smooth
it over with Little Bit, then we’ll get at those bulls.”

Travis grumbled but followed.

Charla was setting extra places as they walked in the kitchen. Ben sat beaming from
his usual chair at the head of the oval table. “You boys wash up now.”

JB watched Char walk toward him. “We didn’t—”

“I know,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. “Just eat. It’s easier this
way, trust me.”

He trailed her to the kitchen, Travis in his shadow. “No, really, Charla, I’ll make
an excuse—”

She made that universal female
tsk
of irritation and turned on him. “If you don’t stay, he won’t let it go. He’ll be
after me all afternoon about how rude I’ve been and that he raised me better. So please,
just wash up, and sit down. It’s only leftovers, but there’s plenty.” She stepped
to the stove and lifted the lid on a large pot.

Is that Charla’s chili?
His mouth watered, making up his mind. “Well, Travis, don’t stand there with your
face hanging out. You heard the lady.”

Within minutes, his boots were back under Charla’s table. Without thinking, he sat
in his usual place at the other head of the table, across from Ben.

Ben reached out his hands, one to Charla on his left, one to Travis, on his right.
“Let us pray.” He bowed his head.

Charla’s eyes skittered away, but she held out her hand. JB took it, then Travis’s,
and bowed his head. As Ben said grace, JB focused on the soft skin of Charla’s hand,
until he encountered the calluses. He ran his fingers across the rough pads at the
base of her fingers, knowing the hours of manual labor it took to develop them.

The second Ben said “Amen,” Charla snatched her hand away as if he’d bitten it. She
passed the cornbread—the lightly browned, bits of heaven she was famous for. JB’s
stomach growled.

Ben took the tureen of chili that Travis offered. “Well, son, what do you think of
our bulls?”

That’s all it took. Once Ben found out Travis enjoyed bull riding, he started in,
regaling him with stories of past exploits and dispensing advice. JB watched from
across the table, mouth full of Char’s chili, swamped by déjà vu, It was as if he
were watching himself at this table twenty years ago. Ben had taken him under his
wing the same way, ushering him into the world of bull riding with stories and laughter.
He’d stepped in as a father figure to JB and, even given Ben’s Alzheimer’s, Travis
wouldn’t find a better mentor.

The sad smile on Charla’s face as she watched the pair told JB she was remembering
too. He had to give it to Little Bit. When she’d thrown him off the property that
day, he’d expected her call the next. A call that had never come. She did everything
herself; if she couldn’t do it the conventional way, she figured a way around it,
like rigging the truck. All by herself. JB smiled.
Downright resourceful.
He’d put Charla up against lots of ranchers he knew, and she’d show better. He realized
with a start that he admired her. At her wary look, he realized he’d been staring.

Char attempted to flip her too-short hair over her shoulder, trying to keep up the
calm façade. Jimmy. Back in the house. It helped to have Daddy and Travis chattering
like long-lost friends. But Jimmy’s familiar gestures,
his smell, his hulking presence had her nerves jumping.
Holy poop, how do I get into these messes?

And now, here he sat, staring at her with a goofy grin. “Bella bought a ranch,” she
blurted, for something to say.

“New York owns a ranch? Surely not.”

“Surely so.” She gave up the appearance of eating and set her fork beside her plate.
“She and Russ bought the old Koehler place.”

“You met this phantom husband?”

“He’s not a phantom, he just travels a lot. He’s very sweet.” Jimmy chased a piece
of hominy around his plate with his fork. Well, at least she wasn’t the only one dancing
in that frying pan. The minefield yawning between them made even simple small talk,
not simple. She tried again. “I’m helping her move in tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah?”

His studied gaze was starting to irritate her. “What?”

“I was just thinking. I imagine that her tenderfoot husband could use some help. He’s
bound to know less than nothing about ranching. I’m not working tomorrow. I could
ride out with you.”

She thought about Jimmy’s offer. Russ would need someone to show him the ropes. And
Jimmy could probably use a friend. It was about time she stopped being selfish. “I’m
leaving around nine.”

“Good. I’ll be here.” His chair squealed on the linoleum as he scooted back from the
table. “Thank you for lunch, Charla Rae. I surely miss your cooking.” He scrunched
his napkin, as he always did and, setting it beside his plate, stood. “Come on, Travis,
daylight’s burning. At some point you have to stop talking about riding bulls and
actually do it.”