Jilted (10 page)

The feedlot on the edge of town had been in business all Clyde's life, yet he had never had reason to set foot on the place. Until Wednesday morning. Riding shotgun in JohnScott's old pickup with Ansel nestled between them, Clyde scanned row after row of fenced holding yards, all jammed with livestock. “This place is big.” It was a nonsense thing to say, but Clyde felt the urge to fill the cab with something other than sadness and stench.

Ansel sat with his hands casually resting one on top of the other, but his right thumb rubbed against the knuckles on his left hand until Clyde thought he might wear a hole in the skin. “That it is,” Ansel said.

JohnScott had been encouraging his dad to sell some of his herd, and after the latest prognosis, the old man finally agreed. His rusted stock trailer bumped along behind the truck, full of cattle, and occasionally Clyde could feel the weight yanking the pickup just like the sale of the herd was bound to yank Ansel's pride.

“Pull up right here, Son.” Ansel pointed at a louvered metal building labeled
office
. “Sam will be in there.”

“Want us to come in with you?” JohnScott slid the truck into neutral and put on the brake.

“I reckon I can manage on my own.”

Clyde and JohnScott climbed out of the truck, and Ansel followed, scooting across the seat to the passenger side. He leaned heavily on his cane as he made his way across the gravel parking lot, and the three steps leading up to the door prompted him to cling to the pipe rail.

“You sure he don't need help?” Clyde asked softly.

“He won't have any trouble negotiating a price with Sam, but I'm a little concerned about him running into my father-in-law.” He motioned toward the shiny, black-and-gray double-cab parked at the far end of the lot. “I'm sure Dad noticed it, though, so he's on his own.”

“I never knew Ansel to be crossways with anybody.”

“It was a long time ago, but Neil cheated him in a cattle deal. Sold him some sick heifers, and we lost five or six of them within a month.”

Clyde ran his fingers through his hair, then held the mess out of his eyes as he gripped the back of his neck. He didn't need another reason to be disgusted with Neil.

“Dad keeps it to himself,” JohnScott said.

“When did it happen?”

The coach took off his cap to scratch his head. “About five years ago, I guess.”

“Huh.” Clyde rested his forearms on the rim of the truck bed, and across from him, JohnScott did the same. “So they've been uncomfortable around each other for that long?”

“Why do you think we didn't invite our parents to our wedding?”

“I thought it was just Neil and me.”

“Yeah, well …” He chuckled. “Mostly.”

Clyde sighed, thinking back to his time in the pen, the regularity of it, the boredom. So much had happened in his little hometown while he was away. So much had changed.

To their left stood a large metal barn, painted blue, and Neil sauntered out of its gaping door. At first he didn't see them because of the angle of the sun, and as he stepped around a portable cattle chute, he removed his cowboy hat and rubbed his eyes. He stopped walking, seemed to take a deep breath, then put his hat back on.

Only then did he see JohnScott and Clyde. He stood up straighter and pulled his hat down more firmly, then hesitated for a split second before striding toward them.

“Coach,” he said loudly. “That grandson of mine giving you any trouble?”

“Every day.”

Clyde was glad Fawn's husband had a relationship with Neil, even if it was shaky.

“He's a feisty Blaylock.” Neil cut his eyes toward Clyde, but Clyde didn't take the bait. Not only was he tired of fighting, but he didn't give a hoot whom Nathan took after. The child may have shared Neil's last name, but he didn't share his blood.

JohnScott's gaze bounced between the two of them. “Yep. Fawn says she probably deserves anything he dishes out, seeing as how she was a handful herself.”

“She certainly was.” Neil grinned as broadly as a shady politician. “Kept her momma and me busy.” He looked at Clyde again, and his smile faded.

Clyde thought JohnScott's shoulders wilted, but just then, the office door opened.

Ansel paused when he saw the three of them, but he called, “Son?” He motioned for JohnScott to come inside, and then he disappeared again.

JohnScott shook Neil's hand. “You and Susan still planning on dinner at our place Saturday?”

“You know it.”

As JohnScott walked toward the office, Neil took two steps as though he were headed to his truck, but when the door closed behind his son-in-law, Neil paused at the tailgate. He patted Ansel's trailer. “So, the old man's selling a few head?”

“I reckon. Can't say I blame him, though. Getting up in years.” Clyde gestured to Neil's truck and trailer. “You selling, too?”

“Maybe. Why do you ask?”

Neil lifted his chin and stared at Clyde, but Clyde only shrugged. There was nothing that needed saying. For a while Clyde looked back, but when it became an obvious attempt on Neil's part to intimidate him, Clyde felt foolish. He and the other boys used to have stare-downs back in sixth grade. Surely Neil wasn't still doing it.

As soon as Clyde broke eye contact, Neil laughed once. “So, I hear you and Lynda are together now.”

“Not necessarily.”

“That's not what Fawn says.” Neil's chin lowered, and he peered at Clyde like a detective drawing out a confession. “From what I hear, the four of you had a double date just last night.”

Clyde's patience stretched. “I'm not sure I'd call it that.” He wasn't sure Lynda would call it that either. He wasn't sure Lynda wanted to be with him at all.

“You ever thought about taking her away from here?” Neil rested a boot on the trailer hitch. “If I was you, I'd head off to somewhere nobody knows you.”

Clyde rubbed his chin, not trusting what he was hearing. “Don't know if that'd be such a good idea. We've both got family here.”

“It's none of my business, really. Just offering a suggestion, but your family will be tended to whether you're here or not.” He smiled. “You're not all that good for the boy anyway.”

“Fawn would disagree.”

The rancher shook his head. “You don't take good care of him. I saw you yesterday.”

Suddenly Neil was a spoiled child pitching a fit worse than Nathan ever had. “Yesterday was a bit of an emergency,” Clyde said.

Neil scanned JohnScott's truck, then looked back toward the barn, and he had a strange expression on his face that Clyde couldn't quite make out. “I'm just saying that if you leave town with Lynda, it might be the best thing for everyone involved.”

Clyde's fingers tightened into a fist. “Nathan is my grandson, Neil. And his momma—
my daughter
—wants him to know me.”

Neil grinned. “Watch that anger of yours.”

The office door opened, and JohnScott held it while Ansel shuffled out.

Neil lifted his hat in greeting. “Ansel, you get a good deal for your stock?”

Ansel didn't answer at first, only limped to the truck looking worn and tired. “Not bad.”

JohnScott's eyes met Clyde's across the bed of the truck, and in a split second, Clyde knew the old man was broken. Selling his herd was akin to digging his grave, and even though he still had a few head left on the ranch, this day marked the beginning of the end.

Neil chuckled as he shook JohnScott's hand, either not seeing or not acknowledging Ansel's discomfort. “We'll be at your place Saturday night.” His eyes cut once more to Clyde. “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“Lyn, Hector told me about those Rangers giving you grief yesterday.”

“No big deal.” I didn't see why the sheriff thought he needed to share that tidbit of information, but I didn't say as much to Clyde. He sat on his usual stool at Dixie's counter, eating his usual lunch, and I saw no reason to discuss Hector or the Rangers. I reached for a stack of menus so I could update them with tomorrow's special.

“And he told me what you said about Neil.”

I gritted my teeth. “I didn't realize you and the sheriff spoke much.”

“Some.”

I slapped a menu against the counter, then calmed myself as I removed today's card, slid in tomorrow's, and flipped the menu to the bottom of the pile. I stopped for a second, deciding if I really wanted to talk about what I was thinking, and then I huffed and went on to the next menu. “It was a long time ago.”

“What did Neil do to you exactly?”

I shrugged. “Crude humor and innuendo when he saw me in town. Sometimes touching me when no one was looking. But he was good enough, nobody ever caught on.”

Clyde's cheeks reddened. “Sometimes I want to beat that man senseless.”

“You'd get arrested.”

“I don't know. The cops might be on my side.”

I shook my head. “Neil has those two wrapped around his pinky finger. I'm not sure about the sheriff.”

“Well … he shouldn't have treated you like that.”

“He doesn't do it anymore. Not since everybody found out about all of it and he left the church. Now people are watching him. Curious.” I snickered softly. “He's a different person—sort of—and it seems he's trying harder since Nathan came along.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“Give me a break. I can't stand the man.” I focused on my work but thought about what he had asked.

Every time I pulled out those blasted letters, something tugged at my heart and wouldn't let go, but it wasn't Neil. It was more of a lost promise. When he cast me aside, my life never seemed to catch up to the dream. Not even when I married Hoby.

But just because Clyde had kissed me in the kitchen didn't mean I was ready to shine a light on all my secrets. “So, tell me about this post-incarceration thing Fawn mentioned.”

He studied me for a second, and I knew he didn't appreciate my changing the subject from my sore spot to his. “It's nothing,” he said.

I nodded, knowing he would have already told me about it if it was
nothing
.

“It's like this,” he said. “While I was in prison, all my decisions were made for me. When I got out, it took a while for me to remember how to do stuff on my own.”

I clucked my tongue. “Like haircuts.”

“I'm still working on some things, but at least I've figured out how to treat people.”

“That explains your house.”

He looked up. “What's wrong with the trailer?”

“It's old and kinda ratty.”

He walked around the counter in slow motion, then helped himself to a piece of pie from the case and fetched a clean fork. Finally he returned to his stool. “Okay.”

Frustration niggled at the muscles in my jaw, but I wasn't sure if it had anything to do with PICS. “I could have gotten that for you.”

“You're busy.” He forked a bite into his mouth that was equivalent to a third of the piece of pie, then looked up quickly as if he had just remembered something he wanted to ask me. He swallowed and took a swig of tea. “Can I pick you up for the game Friday?”

I didn't reply, unsure whether or not he was asking me to sit alone with him on the far side of the scoreboard.

“The view's not as bad as you'd think.”

So he meant for me to sit with him. My teeth ran across my bottom lip, pinching slightly.
Everyone in the stands would see us.

“Or you could come to worship with me tonight.” He shoved another bite into his mouth, but I thought he smiled.

I chortled so loudly, two people at a table near us turned to look. “I'm not going to church with you. Tonight or ever.”

He put his fingertip on the edge of his empty plate and pushed it an inch. “We don't have to go to the Trapp congregation. We could go to Slaton. Or Snyder.”

“No need.” I slapped another menu on the counter.

Clyde pressed both palms against the counter and pushed himself to a standing position. “Friday then?”

He was bribing me, and we both knew it. “People will talk.”

“Yep. Hester Prynne and Magwitch.”

“Who?”

“Hester Prynne, the adulteress in
The Scarlet Letter
, and Magwitch, the escaped convict in
Great Expectations
.”

I rolled my eyes. “Books.”

He bent at the waist until his face was even with mine, and I found myself wishing Dixie didn't insist we wear brown polyester uniforms.

“What?” I snapped.

His eyes wrinkled as if he were laughing out loud, but he didn't make a sound. He only stared at me until I looked into his eyes, but then his gaze dropped to my lips.

Warmth spread up my neck as though my clothes had been set on fire, and even though my brain screamed at me to take a step back, my body involuntarily leaned toward him.

He chuckled. “Lyn? I may suffer from PICS, but there are two decisions I'm not struggling with anymore.”

“Oh?”

“First of all, I need God. He's the only thing that gets me through the hard times, and He's going to be part of my life no matter what.”

I lifted my chin in defiance, not so much against Clyde but in defense of a million other conversations I'd had about God. “And the second?”

“You.” He took a step back, and suddenly we were in the middle of the diner again. He tapped his knuckles on the counter twice. “I want you in my life.”

When he walked out on the street without looking back, I felt as if a high-powered vacuum was pulling me toward the door, and I had the urge to sprint after him. My heart longed to tell him that I wanted him, too, and I was ready to give in and give up. But my doubt still held me firmly behind the counter, where Dixie's laminated menus busied my hands with a concrete task that I clung to as a means of avoiding the obvious.

I was falling for Clyde Felton.

And I was falling hard.