The Sweet Spot (31 page)

Acid burned at the back of his throat. He watched the wind push a scrap of paper across
the empty yard. Here he was again, on the outside. No family, no real home. He settled
his hat on his head and turned for the truck. Maybe he’d call her later, after she’d
calmed down.

Hand on the door handle, he hesitated. This didn’t feel right. Déjà vu ants crawled
over his brain, leaving a trail of unease. Isn’t this what he’d done last time? Walked
out when she needed him the most? He’d allowed his own pain and insecurities blind
him to why she’d attacked him. Char told him just this afternoon that it hadn’t been
about him. It was about her.

Forcing his own feelings out of it, he looked again at what happened. When the greedy
wind threatened to take his hat, he jerked the brim down.

Char was upset. He’d expected that, but it wasn’t until he talked about cutting the
rope that her eyes had gone wild, exposing that crazed woman he’d hoped to never see
again. Why? It didn’t make any sense! Agitation amped, until a fine hum of electricity
ran right under his skin, making him want to jump out of it.

He was done running.

He’d been a self-centered fool to get chased off like a stray hound last time. The
jitters calmed. A solid weight of rightness settled over him.

He tossed the keys on the hood of the truck and turned back to the house. “You may
be stubborn, Charla Rae, but you got nothing on this old bull rider.” His words were
snatched away by the wind, but not his determination.

It didn’t matter if it made sense. Char needed him. He jogged to the garage door.

There! With a strangled cry, she pulled out her small bottle of oblivion and rushed
as fast as the squeezed space would allow to the kitchen door.

Myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfault.
The taunting litany chided her as she groped her purse for her keys. Finding them,
she dropped the purse, scattering former essentials of her life onto the cement floor.
After a few fitful tries, her shaking hands managed the lock. She crossed the kitchen
linoleum to the sink.

While the water ran, she tried with palsied fingers to pry the lid off the plastic
bottle. She was about to reach for her meat mallet to break it, when she remembered
the childproof cap. Snorting at the stab of irony, she pressed on the lid and turned.
It opened easily. She shook two tablets into her palm.

Myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfault.
She added one more.

A child’s heartsick sobbing echoed from down the hall.
Benje?
She cocked her head, listening.

Son?
The sound trailed off, moving away. Her chest collapsed in on itself, the air whooshing
from her lungs.

I can’t live like this anymore. Ghosts aren’t enough to live for.

Her chest spasmed, her lungs having forgotten the skill of breathing.

If Benje can’t come to me
…

She shook the rest of the pills into her hand. Decision made, the band around her
chest slackened and her lungs pulled in a burden of air.

JB’s fingers tightened on the door frame. Char’s back was to him, but he knew she
had those damn pills; he could hear them rattling in the bottle.

Save her!
The cowboy code screamed in his head.

You can’t save her. She has to save herself
, whispered the contemporary voice he’d heard lately.

Charla cocked her head, listening. To what? The water ran gently in the sink, and
the ticking clock in the great room contributed to the silence more than broke it.
“Ahhhh!” She folded over, leaning on the sink as her knees gave way.

His hands jerked from the sill and he mounted the last step. The need to shelter a
woman was a part of his genetic fabric.

You could take them from her. But the world is full of pills, isn’t it?

He forced his hands to clench the frame again, feeling the wood give under his fingers.
Doing nothing was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

She grabbed the edge of the sink, the delicate tendons standing out on the backs of
her bloodless hands. Slowly she straightened. Her head came up. Staring through the
window where the tree used to be, she blindly groped on the wall next to the sink.
The silence shattered with the deep growl of the garbage disposal.

Without looking down, Char upended the bottle over the black hole in the sink. The
grinder’s pitch changed as it chewed.

Joy rocketed from JB’s core, releasing him. He stepped into the room.

“I love you, Charla Rae.”

At the deep voice, she jolted, shock coursing down her legs. She spun to the door.
He was there, towering over her, enfolding her in clean, simple strength.

“You’re not alone, Little Bit. I’m right here,” he murmured, his breath stirring the
hair at her ear as his hand came up to cradle her head.

Of course he was. She looked up into the deep brown eyes that had anchored her to
the earth for the past twenty-one years. He had never left. Not really. His love spoke
by way of the nurse he’d sent to save her when she was drowning. In the sweat he earned
in the hot sun of the feedlot, to pay Rosa. In the money he’d left in the checking
account for her, when she knew he went without. He’d hovered outside her direct sight
for the past year, yet with a simple shift of focus, she could clearly see the threads
of the safety net he’d woven. A net that kept her from the rushing dark waters beneath
her.

Which only made her feel worse. She didn’t deserve any of it. She pried her hands
from his waist and took a reluctant step back.

“
Talk
to me, Charla.” He frowned down at her. And waited. He leaned one hand on the sink,
looking as if he’d wait for as long as it took. “I’m not leaving. So you might as
well tell me.”

“It’s my fault!” The sobbing admission burned like
drain cleaner as it burst from her throat. “I didn’t know. I didn’t remember. How
could I not remember?

“The gold rope, Jimmy, it was mine!

“I bought it to make tie-backs for the curtains. Benje must have taken it to make
a swing.” The poison burst from her mouth in an explosive sob. “I
yelled
at him. Told him to get out from under my feet.” When black dots shot across her
vision, she remembered to breathe. “I know why you left, Jimmy. How can you look at
me? How could you love me? How can I live?

“
I killed our son!
”

He extended his hand slowly, as he would to a frightened horse. The deep rumble of
his voice was like water chuckling over rocks. “Oh, Little Bit. You’ve carried that
guilt all this time?” His eyes filled. With pain. With tears. “Don’t do this, Hon.
You didn’t kill Benje.” His fingers on her arm were icy; she shuddered.

The corner of his mouth twisted in a bitter parody of a smile. “If I’d have taken
the time to build the fort he wanted, he’d have had no reason to be messing with your
pretty rope.” His gaze wandered to the window, to the stump that lurked in the grass,
lethal as a coiled snake.

“Do you know how many times I’ve built that damned fort in my head? I can smell the
sawdust from the sawn planks. I can see the sun shine off the red in his hair as I
lean down to show him how to pound a proper nail—” His deep voice broke, and he swallowed.
“Maybe we’re all guilty. Benje too. Or maybe none of us is.”

He turned to her, tears coursing down his long face. “It was an accident, Charla.
A stupid random accident. And I miss him so bad it’s like a piece of my heart tore
off.”

His gaze on her was soft as butter on a burn. “It’s time
to forgive it all, Charla Rae. We can’t have him back. We’re gonna have to wait until
we die for that. I’m trying to learn how to live without him.” He raised his hands
to hold her upper arms as she hugged herself to hold her guts in. “But there’s another
hole in me because you’re not there. Between the two, there’s not enough left to make
a life.” He squatted a bit, bringing his face even with hers. “Maybe if we stand together,
we can find a way.” His eyes explored hers. “What do you say, Little Bit?”

Could she? Let go of the guilt? Let go of Benje?

Benje’s already gone, Charla. You’ve known that for some time.

Mom was right. God took Benje. She studied Jimmy’s dear, hard face. Maybe if she worked
the rest of her life, gave it all she had, she’d deserve the gift that God left her.

Could she, long term? No way to know. For right now…

She put it all down and lifted her hand to touch the cool skin of his face.

S
he and Jimmy talked until the wind stilled and the shadows in the yard lengthened.
They sat drinking coffee, digging up memories from before the breakup, and filling
in the holes of each other’s experiences after it. They held nothing back, and in
the laughter and the tears, they rediscovered each other. Like an intricate dance
they’d choreographed over the years, they fell into step, knowing the other’s next
move almost before they made it.

Char told of her terror and pratfalls learning to run the ranch. Jimmy spoke of his
time with Jess.

“That was a huge mistake, but one I learned a lot from. Hero worship is not a good
basis for a relationship.” His lip curled, showing more sting than smile. “For either
party.”

It was a hard listening, but if she expected to know Jimmy again, she needed to hear
the events that shaped him since he’d been gone. After all, they’d brought the old
Jimmy back to her. She hadn’t known gratitude would taste bitter. “She was so young,
Jimmy. Did you let her down easy?”

He threw his head back and shouted laughter at the ceiling. “Are you kidding?
She
dumped
me
!” Char tried to absorb the fact, while he got control of himself. After a minute,
he heaved a breath and wiped his eyes. “Oh, Hon, thank you for assuming that.” He
patted the back of her hand. “If a young girl is on an old guy’s arm, she’s there
for one of two reasons. Either she’s sidling up to his money, or she’s looking for
a daddy.” His eyes looked away. “And God knows, I was broke.”

When he rubbed a hand down the thigh he’d broken in competition, she knew it must
be aching. “Once I got over the ego bruise, I could see what’s what. Bright, shiny
paper will attract a male bird. When they get it back to the nest, they find it’s
not good building material.” His touch on her hand became a light caress. “I’ve been
such a fool, Charla. And like the old saw says, the old ones are the worst kind.”

He laced his fingers with hers. “Are we back, Charla Rae?”

She knew without him saying that he meant “back together.” She didn’t have to think
about what felt right. “I believe we are, Jimmy.”

His eyes drew her in. Like a favorite denim shirt washed to the softness of flannel,
his appreciative gaze wrapped her in the comfort of the familiar. Until it began to
smolder. She knew that look. Knew exactly what would happen next. A flush of heat
spread up her chest as a rush of need spread south. She wanted him. If she wasn’t
so distracted by his sexy looks, she’d wonder at her lack of hesitation, but as it
was—

The phone rang. They jerked from each other like teenagers caught by the porch light
in a lovers’ clinch.

Dammit!
JB released her hand and sat back, hoping to make room in his Wranglers.

Charla sprang up and took the few steps to the counter. “Denny Bucking Bulls, Charla
speaking.”

She leaned a hip against the counter, and she tipped her head to cradle the phone.
She was small but had always been perfectly proportioned. He took advantage of her
distraction to let his eyes wander. He liked her new haircut and color. It swung,
thick and shiny with her every move, making him itch to bury his hands in it. Small
shoulders led to a tiny waist above the slight flare of her hips. She’d lost some
weight, but she looked good. Damned good.

“Oh, Junior, I’m sorry. I got wrapped up here and didn’t notice the time.” She shot
a guilty look at Jimmy, and he grinned back. “I’ll be right over. Thanks, bye.”

He sighed, and heaved himself to his feet. “I’ll be getting home, I guess.”

“I’ve got to pick up Daddy at Junior’s.” Her eyes darted to his face, her smile twitchy.
“Do you want to stay for dinner, Jimmy? It’s only leftover roast, but I made bread
today.”

He stepped around the table to take her hand. “Darlin’, if you’re cooking, I’m eating.”

Her smile turned radiant and he basked in it a moment, soaking up the simple pleasure
of having made Charla happy. He couldn’t wait any longer. He stepped closer. Her smile
slipped, and her eyes widened. “May I kiss you, Charla Rae?”

Her tongue flicked over her lips, sending a shock wave to his John Henry. As she stepped
up on the rung of the bar stool, her face came even with his. “Oh, James Benton, I
really wish you would.”

He smoothed his hands over her arms to her waist and
then to the small of her back, snuggling her to his chest. He’d waited so long for
this, he planned to savor it. Her hands settled lightly on his shoulders and as he
lowered his head, he held her gaze, to make sure she was sure. When everything blurred,
he closed his eyes to better appreciate the input bombarding his senses.

Her familiar scent filled his head, some kind of delicate flower and the essence of
Charla beneath, in a potent potion that mainlined to his brain. She relaxed, fitting
against him like two puzzle pieces, same as they always had. He tipped his head and
touched his lips to hers. He meant to tell her with his lips of his respect, his gratitude.
But the kiss fast morphed into something different. Something hotter.

Her tongue met his in a tentative reunion and he took it without hesitation. Cupping
her butt, he tugged her closer. She whimpered and captured his face between her hands
as if she held something way more precious than a worn-down cowboy. She fit perfectly
in his arms, filling his empty spaces. Just like that, his world shifted to the proper
angle for the first time in well over a year. It was everything he could do to keep
his hands gentle, when all he wanted was to rip her clothes off and take her right
here on the kitchen counter.