Wink of an Eye (10 page)

My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat as Claire two-stepped her way over to me. Part of me wanted to turn around, climb back in the van, and head back to Wink where it was safe; the other part wanted to do things to her right there that I'd probably get arrested for.

She smiled softly, then took my hand and led me out to the nearly empty dance floor. A few couples glided their way around the floor, two-stepping in time to George Strait. Some were decked out in tight jeans, western shirts, and boots; others, like me, were in shorts, sandals, and T-shirts and were probably more comfortable in a ball cap than a Stetson. Claire, of course, didn't fit into either category. She made her own rules, wearing a simple white sundress with a halter top and open back that showed off her bronze-colored tan. We stumbled over one another for the first few chords, silently fighting over who was going to lead. After a moment, she gave in, and we once again found our old rhythm. Whether on the dance floor, or in a bed, our bodies had always moved together like a well-oiled machine.

“Well, this is certainly nicer than our last meeting,” I whispered in her ear, and smiled.

She laughed and gently stroked my cheek where she had landed the blistering slap. “Sorry about that.”

The jukebox slowed down with one of George's ballads. I hesitated before pulling her closer. She wrapped her arms around my neck and laid her head on my shoulder. I breathed her in, my hands finding joy in the curve of her back. I was walking headfirst into dangerous territory and no matter how much that little voice inside my head was telling me to walk away, I couldn't do it. I pulled her even closer, feeling her heart beat in rhythm with my own.

After the song ended, we continued to stand there a moment gently swaying to a melody only we could hear, lost in our own little world of memories and what-could-have-beens.

Finally, Claire lifted her head from my shoulder and smiled. “I guess I need to feed you since I did invite you to dinner.”

I grinned and shrugged slightly. Food was the last thing on my mind at the moment.

She pulled away, took my hand, and led me to a booth in the far corner of the restaurant area. “This okay? It's a little bit quieter back here.” She slid into the booth and I sat down across from her. There were a few couples scattered around the dining area, far enough apart to ensure privacy.

A waitress in jeans and a T-shirt and with more hair than some wildlife came over and handed us two menus. We ordered two Lone Star beers and a plate of smothered cheese fries to get started.

“So, how long are you staying?” Claire asked after the waitress had left.

“Until I piss Rhonda off or Gram drives me crazy.”

She burst out laughing, her blue eyes dancing like tiny sparkling stars. “So you're leaving tomorrow.”

After tonight, that might be a possibility. I laughed with her then shook my head slightly. “I don't know. Maybe a couple weeks.”

She raised her perfect brows. “Really? Is this like an extended vacation?”

“Who vacations in Wink?”

She twisted her mouth into a tight knot. “Good point.”

Before she could delve further, I seized the moment. “So, tell me what you've been up to.”

She bobbed her head back and forth. “Just minding the ranch. The Herefords and Longhorns keeps me pretty busy.”

“Longhorns? I thought they were almost extinct.” I
was,
after all, from Texas.

“They've made a pretty good comeback in recent years. Nothing like a Longhorn.” The mere thought brought a twinkle to her eyes.

“No horses?”

She laughed again. “Gypsy … you know me better than that. We're still breeding and training quarters, mostly for show and rodeos.”

I thought of Rogelio Esconderia. Malita had said he was a wrangler. Just as I was about to broach the subject, the waitress came back with our beers and fries.

“Ready to order dinner?” she asked as she placed the fries between us. Then she set out two small plates.

“Oh … we haven't even looked at the menu,” Claire said, giggling like a schoolgirl. “Do you know what you want?”

I knew what I wanted but everything about it was wrong. A pale, tan line encircled her finger where a wedding band had obviously been. “I'm fine for now.” I smiled at the waitress.

Claire looked at me then shrugged. “Me too.”

The waitress sighed. “I'll check back in a little bit.”

I took a long swig of the beer and damned if it wasn't good. So there were two things in Texas I missed. And I had the pleasure of both their company tonight.

“Tell me about Vegas.”

I took another long drink, thinking of what to say. Less was probably better. “It's … interesting.”

“How can you stand all the … people? I get claustrophobic in Dallas.”

I laughed. That was my Claire. More comfortable around a herd of cows than in a crowd of people. “It's different than anything around here, that's for sure.”

“Have you ever won big in the casinos?”

“Depends on what you call big. I won ten grand once in a poker tournament.”

She squealed to stroke my ego. “Ten thousand dollars? I'm impressed.” Ten thousand dollars to Claire Kinley was a week's pay. “God … remember the games of poker we used to play? I used to lose on purpose—just so you could undress me.”

“You never lost on purpose. You just never could beat me.”

“Bull! I can't count the times I let you win.”

We laughed until we were both nearly in tears. We spent the next two hours like that, laughing until we cried, reliving memories with such clarity they could have happened only moments ago. We were once again picnicking by the Rio Grande, hiking the Big Bend, sneaking down to Juárez, where teenagers could buy beer.

We never did eat a meal, just sat there picking at the fries and downing beer after beer until we were both buzzed. I never did ask about her husband. Maybe I didn't really want to know.

Garth Brooks's “More than a Memory” hit the jukebox, and this time I led her to the dance floor. I pulled her so close we could feel each other breathe. It had taken me years to get her out of my head; I could honestly say I had never really gotten her out of my heart. “Claire,” I whispered, “what are we doing?”

She hesitated, then, with the gentleness of a fairy, brushed her lips across mine. “I don't know,” she whispered. “But I don't want it to stop.”

*   *   *

Sometime after midnight, I dozed off, lulled to sleep by the constant hum of the rickety air conditioner propped in the dust-covered window. Each wobbly rotation of the ancient ceiling fan hanging above the bed brought a faint but welcome push of air. The red neon sign outside the window flashed
VACANCY
.

Claire stirred beside me, then settled back into a sound sleep. The air conditioner cycled off; the sudden quietness interrupted my dozing, slapping me fully awake. I lay there for I don't know how long, watching the silhouette of the ceiling fan circle above the bed, wondering what in the hell I'd done.

We had moved together so effortlessly, so naturally, it
couldn't
be wrong. Although nearly twenty years had passed since we had last made love, we were still so in tune with one another, we were driven by instinct. We knew where to touch each other, where to kiss one another, when tenderness was needed and when a heated frenzy was more to the liking. I wondered if her still unnamed husband could take her to the body-spasm heights I could? I wondered if he teetered on the verge of a blackout when she took him in her velvet mouth?

I eased out of the bed, careful not to wake her, slipped my shorts on, then stepped outside. The air was still stifling hot, forcing my lungs to work overtime just to catch a breath. The crowd at the roadhouse had long gone, drawing unwanted attention to the lone van and Dually still parked where they had been hours ago, the occupants' whereabouts obvious given the close proximity to the pay-by-the-hour motel next door. I walked down to the vending machine near the motel's office and dropped a dollar for a bottled water, then walked back to the room. I sat in the cheap motel room chair across from the bed and watched her sleep.

My head and my heart weren't in agreement. Damn Claire Kinley. Or whatever her married name was. Did he hate her as much as I did? Did he love her as much as I did? Did she love him, like she used to love me? There had been many women in my life, but only one Claire. Once, when we were teenagers, she came damn close to killing her own father to protect me. There were times after that I often wondered if pure love and hate really could spark the fire of insanity. Rhonda had been right. Claire Kinley was the only woman who had ever taken me to my knees.

“What are you doing?” Claire asked in a sleepy voice. She sat up, covering herself with the damp sheet. She brushed tangled hair from her eyes.

I didn't answer her. There were so many things I wanted to say, but kept coming back to the one thing I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

“Gypsy?”

“Tell me about your husband.”

She stared at me for what seemed like an eternity. Even in the shadowy darkness, I could see the fury in her eyes. Finally, she sighed heavily, then fell back on the bed. “His name's Steven,” she said matter-of-factly.

“How long have you been married?”

“Twelve years. Twelve long years.”

Cue the excuses. I was sure there were dozens of reasons she was in a fleabag motel with a man other than her husband, and I had heard them all. He doesn't pay any attention to me … he works all the time … he's a lousy lover … I'm lonely … I'm horny … I like the excitement, and, my personal favorite, he's screwing around, too. Nothing like a good revenge fuck to screw with everybody's heart.

“Does Steven work on the ranch, too?”

She sighed heavily again, then propped herself on her elbow and stared at me. “He's a state senator. He spends ten months out of the year in Austin.”

Ahh … so it was going to be the combo special: “he works all the time, I'm so lonely” excuse. And judging by the way she was in bed a few hours ago, you could probably safely add the “I'm horny” excuse, too.

“Gypsy,” she said softly.

I pulled myself up from the chair, then slowly walked over to the window and stared out at the blinking sign, a flashing reminder of my indiscretion. “I'm not in the habit of sleeping with married women, Claire. I've seen too often the trouble it brings.”

I felt a pillow whap me on the back. “You pompous ass!”

I spun around and came face-to-face with her fury.

“How dare you judge
me
! Unless you made some earth-shattering discovery within the last few hours, you knew I was married when you met me here.” She leapt out of the bed, dragging the sheet with her. She wrapped it around herself then flung another pillow at me. I batted it down, which infuriated her even more. She headed toward me, trapping me in the corner. “Don't get righteous with me, Gypsy Moran. You were pretty quick to drop your pants, too.”

“Why didn't you tell me when I ran into you at the diner?”

“We spoke … what? Maybe five minutes?”

“You had plenty of time tonight at the restaurant to tell me.”

Her eyes cut right through to my soul. “Would you have left?”

Neither of us said anything for a long while. We just stood there staring at each other, hating each other more than humanly possible. Loving each other more than either of us ever imagined. No matter the years and distance, some things will never change.

“I used to wish I could stop loving you,” she said in a tiny voice. “I wished
every night
you'd come back and love me the way I loved you. But you never came back. You never came back, Gypsy.”

I took a step toward her. “I begged you to come with me.”

“And I begged you to
stay.
”

I reached out, grabbed her, and pulled her to me. Her warm tears rolled down my bare chest. I lifted her chin and gently kissed away each tear, wishing to God I could stop loving her.

 

CHAPTER 10

It was approaching 5:00
A.M.
when I pulled into Rhonda's driveway. All I wanted to do was crawl into a decent bed and catch a couple hours' sleep. Claire and I had made love the rest of the night, never mentioning what's his name or how wrong it was for us to be there, or how right it was.

I climbed out of the van and stumbled up the walk, then quietly opened the door. Or tried to. I tried it again as quietly as I could, not wanting to wake Rhonda or Gram. I finally jiggled the knob—it was locked. She had locked me out!

I thought of going around to her bedroom and banging on the window but I wasn't in the mood for a lecture so I stumbled back to the van, laid the seat back as far as it would go, and tried to get an hour in before the dawn broke. Damn her. Damn Claire. And damn Gina Gilleni. Damn women in general. If Gina hadn't gone and gotten herself killed I wouldn't have had to leave Vegas, I wouldn't have run into Claire and slept with a married woman, and I wouldn't be sleeping in a van in my sister's driveway because she was pissed and locked the door.

It was miserable hot even with the windows down and I was hungry to boot. We never did eat dinner and my stomach was protesting. I didn't want to crank the engine and run the air out of fear of some freak leak somewhere that would pump the van full of carbon monoxide.

I was totally drained physically, mentally, and emotionally. Either I dozed off or passed out from hunger and heat exhaustion because the last thing I remembered before my eyes closed was cussing Rhonda for everything she was worth. And now here she was in a tank top and pajama shorts standing beside the van, arms folded across her chest, jaw set firm. I batted my eyes against the painful sunshine and struggled to sit up, reminding myself of an old man trying to get out of a recliner.