Ever After at Sweetheart Ranch (22 page)

“I love you, too.”

Together they went inside to finish helping with the cleanup, and although Will was relieved and happy, he wondered if he was more like his mom than he'd thought—­that maybe he was in denial that he had a problem. She thought he blamed himself for things when he shouldn't. But when things were his fault, he couldn't deny it. His breakup with Lyndsay? That was his fault, wasn't it? He couldn't give her what she wanted.

Maybe he was in denial about that, too. But he didn't know how to change, or if he even deserved to.

 

Chapter 20

L
yndsay almost didn't go to Monday night's softball game. She wasn't going to bring a blanket or have a romantic picnic. She'd have to watch Will use that incredible body in athletic endeavors that did not involve him moving over or under her. It was all so depressing.

But . . . it was election eve, and Mrs. Thalberg and Mrs. Sweet had already spent the final week going door-­to-­door, talking up Valentine's historical society and the importance of steering it in the “proper” direction—­depending on who you supported. Lyndsay couldn't imagine they could come up with something new, but she had to be there to find out.

To her surprise, there didn't seem to be any gimmicks or tchotchkes or beer. Just two elderly women sitting at two different tables, ready to answer questions. Throughout the game, Lyndsay saw ­people stop to talk to them, but it had been a monthlong election season, and folks probably knew the answers to all their questions.

Theirs was the last game of the evening. By the time it was over—­Tony's Tavern defeated the Valentine Valley fire department—­dusk had already settled over the valley, and the ball field lights were being turned off. Lyndsay climbed out of the stands and tried to leave quietly. But she had to pass near where the two presidential contenders were no longer talking to historical society members but to each other.

“Eileen, I did not think you capable of it,” Mrs. Thalberg said coldly.

“Rosemary, I don't know what you're talking about” was the equally cool reply.

“You're trying to bribe the membership!”

“I am not—­I am simply donating something to better explain the history of our town.”

“Your mother's memorabilia—­the same items you wouldn't donate a few years back. But now you announce it the night before the election?”

Mrs. Thalberg frowned, hands on her hips. Mrs. Sweet looked innocent and cool, her hands clasped genteelly before her, broad-­brimmed hat (like the one on the lapel pin) shadowing her face in the growing darkness.

Lyndsay's dad stood away from the candidates, watching impassively, his arms crossed over his chest. Lyndsay went to stand beside him, and he gave her a distracted nod.

“This is just like high school all over again,” Mrs. Thalberg said. “Don't you remember when you wanted the school council presidency, and your daddy donated money toward the gymnasium renovation?”

“I didn't have anything to do with that,” Mrs. Sweet sneered.

And suddenly, behind both their heads, a blaze of fireworks boomed and exploded.

“Where did those come from?” Mrs. Thalberg demanded.

Mrs. Sweet grinned.

And then they went on arguing like they didn't even notice.

“So is my grandma causing problems?” Will asked from behind Lyndsay.

She jumped, startled, then glanced over her shoulder, wondering how long her eyes would get itchy and her throat tighten up every time she saw him. He was studying her too closely, as if he either expected her to break down and beg him to take her back—­or missed her.

She gave him a faint smile. “Nothing Mrs. Thalberg can't handle.” She turned to her dad. “Has it always been like this? Will told us this started because of a guy in high school.”

“Well, it did,” Mario said simply. “You never bothered to ask me about it, you know.”

“So we're asking now. What do you know, Dad?”

He cleared his throat and rocked once on his heels. “I was courting Eileen when Rosemary caught my eye back then.”

Lyndsay gaped. “
You
were the young man Mrs. Thalberg lured away from Mrs. Sweet?”

“ ‘Lured' is not quite the word,” Mario said. He eyed the sizzling white fireworks that haloed Mrs. Thalberg. “It's not like I'd given Eileen a fraternity pin. We were simply flirting, but there was something about Rosemary, feisty even then.” He studied his “lady friend” with fondness.

“But you didn't stay together,” Will commented.

Mario shrugged. “I admit the feud made it difficult. I didn't like coming between a group of girls. And I was a teenage boy—­we don't usually date a girl for years.”

Lyndsay glanced hastily at Will, but his expression remained impassive. Her dad probably didn't even remember Will's high school love affair with Brittany.

“And it took you all this time to ask her out again,” Lyndsay said, shaking her head.

“The memory of your mother was a strong influence on me,” he said softly. “It didn't even occur to me to think of another woman for a long time.”

Lyndsay had never thought Will and her dad had lots in common, but there was loyalty to a woman's memory . . .

Will kept his expression impassive as the fireworks went on brightening the night sky and he thought about Mr. De Luca's words. High school wasn't all that different in the late '90s than it had been in the '50s, but still, he himself had been one of those boring guys who'd stayed with a girl for years.

And been loyal to her memory, too.

He'd been in denial about that for a long time, a trait he'd obviously inherited from his mom. Perhaps he was giving it so much thought now for a different reason. It hadn't occurred to him in many years that he deliberately avoided commitment. It was always just something he did.

And now he was trying to avoid Lyndsay, had planned to break it off with her if she hadn't beaten him to it. He missed her already, missed their late-­night phone calls, the teasing way she spoke to him, the way she gave him her body and her emotions with abandon.

And her love. She'd given him her love.

And knowing she'd thought so much about him that she'd based her book's hero on him had sent him running. He shouldn't care so much, but he did. Had he been starting to fall in love, too? Maybe he needed to know the truth about what she'd written.

At last the fireworks were over with a final big bang that deafened the ears and faded into a smoky trail. Mrs. Thalberg and his grandma marched away from each other, stiff-­backed, and he hoped that tomorrow's election would see an end to the open feuding.

“Dad, I'll leave you to your girlfriend,” Lyndsay said. “Have fun.”

Mario smiled, but it was hard in the growing darkness to tell what kind of look he threw at Will. Did he know they were no longer together?

“You, too, babes,” Mario said.

Lyndsay turned and headed for the parking lot.

Will caught up with her. “Lynds, would it bother you if I read your book?”

She eyed him skeptically, then gave an exasperated laugh. “Okay, fine. I'll try not to imagine you reading it.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know. Ever since I found out it would be published, I've felt . . . squeamish. Strangers out in the world will be reading it. I feel squeamish about
everyone
reading it, so don't take it personally.”

“Okay, I won't. I'll follow you home and pick up a copy.”

“Tonight?” she asked, her eyes gleaming wide in the twilight.

“Is that okay?”

“It's a school night—­not like I have a date.”

He arched a brow, and she just smiled smugly.

“Oh, but I walked over,” she added.

“I'll drive you home, then.”

She nodded, but remained silent to the parking lot and the few blocks to her house. It was difficult being in the enclosed cab of his pickup with her, for Will could smell her faint perfume and see her tension by the way she gripped her hands in her lap. Usually, when he ended things with a woman, he was able to put it in the past, to move forward to the next exciting challenge. Not this time. It had been three days of replaying their every moment together in his head and wondering what Lyndsay was doing every hour.

As they pulled up to the front of her house, she reached to open the door. In that split second, he wondered what she'd do if he just grabbed her and kissed her. The feeling was so powerful that he was shaken by it, and he let the moment pass.

She let him inside the house, but he stood by the door, not making himself comfortable, not wanting her to be misled. Misled? She was the one who'd broken things off. And that thought almost made him laugh at the irony. He could hardly act offended, now, could he, not after all the women he'd dumped.

Or was he still riled that she'd seen through his bullshit?

She came out of the small hallway at the back of the house and handed him a book. He studied the beautiful mountain scenery on the cover, the image of the lone cowboy in the distance.

“Doesn't seem like me,” he said.

She shot him a look, then reluctantly laughed. “Don't worry, I didn't send your picture or anything. And I didn't name him Will. Kate thinks we'll be okay.”

He nodded, seeing her name in big letters over the book cover.

“This is truly an accomplishment, Lynds,” he said quietly. “I do know that.”

“Thanks,” she said, her cheeks tinged with a blush.

For a moment he hesitated, and the air between them seemed fraught with regret and sorrow and might-­have-­beens.

“Now don't make me autograph the book,” she said, her teasing sounding forced. “I wouldn't have a clue what to say.”

He smiled, said, “Good night,” then turned and walked away.

L
yndsay woke up at dawn, her eyes scratchy from lack of sleep—­and probably from the tears that had kept falling from her eyes, through her hair, and into the pillow as she'd stared into the darkness long past midnight.

She was plagued by recrimination. Maybe she'd broken it off too soon with Will—­after all, he already wanted to read the book! Maybe if she'd given him some time . . .

No, all she would have done was get even more attached, and he would have been the one to end things. She'd done the right thing for both of them. But it was hard to convince her heart of that.

When she went to leave for school, she found a flyer in her screen door and almost had a heart attack, wondering what the widows had done now. But it was only a reminder to stop by the community center and cast her ballot for the historical society officers. She saw the names of the ­people running for the other offices—­unopposed—­and it made her shake her head with amusement.

She glanced at her watch. If she hurried, she could stop there on her way to school and get it over with, because after school was the science fair, and she couldn't wait to see what all the kids—­especially Matias—­had done.

The community center had once been a brick factory, now remodeled with meeting rooms, an industrial kitchen, a game room, and a banquet hall that had held events of such importance as a speech by the president of the United States, and now something so local as a historical society vote. Valentine Valley took its history as a mining town very seriously.

She saw lots of ­people she knew as she marked off her ballot and stuffed it in the box. She poured a cup of coffee and stood quietly talking to Will's cousin, Matt, for a few minutes, before they both headed out the door for work. It was two days before the end of school, and the kids were crazed with excitement. She was pretty excited, too—­she'd have a summer to finish her second book and start planning her third. She always needed the summer to recover from the nonstop prepping, teaching, and grading whirlwind.

After school, the kids who'd participated in the science fair headed down to the gym, while Lyndsay oversaw the dismissal for the rest of her kids. She spent a half hour grading papers until the fair began, then she grabbed her purse and went to take a look.

Parents and other visitors already wandered the aisles. Rows and rows of tables were set up with freestanding display boards. Before each stood a proud child, ready to describe his or her work. The judging had already happened, and here and there she could see the occasional blue ribbon of a winner. Standing on tiptoes, she searched for Matias. To her surprise, she saw Will standing with him, hand on his shoulder, talking intently.

The ache of sadness was still sharp and overwhelming, and she had to take a deep breath to control her reaction. Will was such a thoughtful guy with kids. She should walk another aisle, she knew, but she couldn't stop herself from approaching them.

Had Will read the book? It was only the next day—­of course he hadn't had time. She was going to have to stop worrying about it. He might never discuss it with her out of embarrassment. And maybe that was for the best.

Matias glanced past Will, and his chubby face lit up when he saw her. “Ms. De Luca, you'll never believe it. I took third place in my category.”

She high-­fived him, casting a surreptitious glance at Will before saying, “I can't be surprised. That was a great idea you came up with.”

“Well, you helped. Check out the charts I drew on the poster. Cool, right?”

Will smiled as he said to Lyndsay, “I was just asking him to explain the experiment to me.”

So Matias laid it out, and it was obvious he'd practiced for the judging round, because he delivered it smoothly and with enthusiasm. An older ­couple, perhaps someone's grandparents, stopped to listen, and as Matias started answering their questions, Will and Lyndsay stepped back and let him take over.

“So I saw Matias biking onto your ranch last week,” she said in a quiet voice. “I admit, I was a little concerned that he should have been working on his science poster, but it's obvious he's well prepared for today. What was he doing with you?”

“This wasn't his only project. He wanted to present a poster with the 4-­H club at the rodeo later this month. He asked me if he could borrow one of our horses and learn to ride. I've been helping him.”

Lyndsay stared at him. “Why didn't you guys tell me?”

He studied her, bemused. “Why should we?”

“Because . . . I don't know. I kind of thought he was getting distracted at the end of the school year, when it's so important to focus on tests.”