She’s Gone Country (13 page)

“No. Their dad has…” I take a deep breath and plunge ahead, “A new man.” I see Dane’s stunned expression and try to ignore the sick feeling I get just talking about John. “It’s been hard. The boys aren’t sure what to think.”

“Your husband’s… gay?”

My smile isn’t entirely steady. “Apparently so.”

“Was he always?”

“He said he suspected, but he fought it, and thought with me he could be straight.” I squirm a little, finding the conversation uncomfortable, knowing that everyone is wondering whether John and I had sex—and yes, we did, and yes, the sex was fine. Was it brilliant or mind-blowing? No. But did I enjoy it? Yes.

I glance at him, shoulders lifting and falling. “And no, I had no idea he might be gay. We had a normal relationship, a good marriage. A great marriage. He was my partner. My best friend.”

“How many years were you married?”

“It would have been seventeen this year.”

“Sounds like you were happy.”

“I was. Very.”

“That must have made your husband’s announcement a shocker.”

“A huge one.”

The man at the counter calls our number, and I get our food.

We don’t talk a lot as we eat. Ribs are messy and I’m doing a fair amount of finger licking, but Dane’s doing the same thing. “Feel better, darlin’?” he asks after I’ve used one of the little wet towels to wipe my hands clean.

“I do. Guess you were right. I just needed some ribs.”

He flashes a smile at me, and I get that wild adrenaline rush all over again. He’s so damn hot. It’s really not fair. “Were you happy with Shellie Ann?”

Dane had just started to rise, but he sits back down. He doesn’t immediately answer, and then when he does, he picks his words with care. “We tried hard to make it work. But it was never an easy relationship. It was never like—” He breaks off, swallowing whatever else he was going to say. “Finished?” he asks instead, rising.

I look up at him, imagine how he might have finished the thought. But there’s little point in fantasizing about us. There was never an “us”—we flirted for years and only had that one month of dates, which doesn’t make a relationship.

We step out into the sunshine, and it’s warm and the sky is a clear bright blue. It’s a gorgeous day, and I tip my head back to take it all in. I love October, love this time of year.

Back in the truck, Dane asks me about my upcoming modeling trip. “Are Brick and Char watching your boys when you’re in Puerto Rico?”

“No. Mama is.” I see Dane’s expression, and my lips curve ruefully. “I know. I feel the same way. And I’m worried. Hank and Coop will be fine with her for five days, but Bo… I don’t know. He needs special handling. A little more patience. A lot more supervision. I’m worried Mama’s not going to understand. I’m afraid there’ll be a big blowup.”

“Her or him?”

“Him. Then her.”

“Does he blow up often?”

“No, not with me. But that’s because I know Bo and I don’t push him too far. When I see he’s about to melt down, I back off, give him an out.” I sigh, feel the weight on my chest, the pressure always there. “Brick says I’m too soft on him. Blue says the same thing. But Bo really struggles, far more than the other two, and I have to be careful with him, and vigilant.”

“Don’t worry about what other people say. You’re his mom. He’s your responsibility. Trust your instincts.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Then you’re doing the right thing.”

I don’t know why, but that makes me feel so much better. I shift on the seat, pull one leg up under me, and we drive in companionable silence until we turn off 180 onto Turkey Flat Road, which leads to the ranch. We’ll be home in just a few minutes, and I’m not ready for the trip to end. I loved being with him today. Loved talking to him. Looking at him. Just hanging out with him.

We hit one of the potholes in the road, and his cane slides off the seat. He reaches down and retrieves it, leaning it against the bench seat. His hand is strong, callused, and tan. It’s also scarred. He’s a fighter, not a quitter, and I can only imagine the fight he must have made for his son.

“I wish I could have met him,” I say, the ranch house coming into view.

Dane glances at me as we pass beneath the shady canopy of the oak trees.

“Matthew,” I say.

We pull in front of the house, and Dane shifts the car into neutral. “He was the best boy,” he replies after a moment.

I look at him, wishing there were something I could say, some comfort I could give. But I can think of nothing. His son has been gone more than ten years now, yet I can tell that the grief is still there.

I reach for my purse and then the door handle but then hesitate. “How do you bear it?”

He doesn’t speak immediately, stares instead at the old barn and stables. Then, as the silence stretches to a breaking point, Dane looks at me. There’s sorrow etched in his features, burned into his eyes. “The truth is, sometimes I don’t.”

The lump returns to my throat. “You still think about him a lot?”

“Every single day.”

I sit for a moment, feeling his pain. Then, when it’s too much, I open the door. “Thanks for the ribs.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a ghostly smile. “Anytime, darlin’.”

I force a smile, lift my hand in a farewell gesture, and enter the ranch house knowing that Dane Kelly owns far more of my heart than he should.

Late that afternoon as I’m making dinner, Dane calls to talk to Coop, and they’re on the phone for nearly ten minutes before Cooper hands me the phone. “He wants to talk to you,” Cooper tells me, clearly anxious that this conversation go well. “Whatever it is, say yes.”

I give him a look as I take the phone. “Dane, it’s Shey.”

“I had a good talk with Cooper and I’ve agreed to work with him three times a week for a couple hours each session. In exchange I expect him to pitch in around here, shadow my guys, learn what he can about raising livestock. I thought we’d start next Monday. I’ve got the ropes, spurs, gloves, strapping tape, and so on. But he should have his own helmet, mouth guard, and face guard. Not everyone uses the helmet and face guard, but I think it should be mandatory, especially for juniors.”

“We’ll get them this week,” I answer, grateful and touched that he’s agreed to work with Coop after all. “What about chaps and vest?”

“I don’t think he needs chaps for a while, but a vest, definitely. It’s essential for upper-body protection.”

“We’ll get that, too, and I really appreciate it, Dane. You’ve made him very happy.”

“I’m hoping he’ll enjoy it. It’s not going to be easy, though. He’s a tall kid and coming into it late.”

“He knows that. He’s prepared.” I’m about to say good-bye when I remember that the big State Fair of Texas opened last Friday in Dallas and I was thinking of taking the boys this weekend. “Are you around this weekend?”

“Yes and no. Why?”

“I was hoping to take the boys to the state fair. Wondered if you’d want to go with us.” Part ag-fest, part carnival, the State Fair of Texas is a twenty-four-day party that even my boys would enjoy. “But there’s no pressure, of course,” I add quickly.

“I haven’t been in years,” he answers.

“Neither have I. I think the last time I went was the year I tagged along with you and Brick and Charlotte.” I don’t add that Dane was dating some redheaded rodeo queen at the time who surprised us all by showing up at the fair halfway into the evening. I was so bummed when she arrived, as it changed the dynamics. Dane had been talking to me and going on the rides with me, and then when she appeared, it all changed. Dane focused on her—Barb, I think her name was—and I became an awkward, and jealous, fifth wheel.

“I have plans on Sunday,” he says now, “but could do Saturday.”

“Then Saturday it is.”

I promise to follow up with him on the exact time after I’ve talked to my boys, and then I hang up. It’s not until I’ve replaced the phone on the wall that I realize what I’ve done. I’ve invited Dane to join us. Included him in our family outing. I smile nervously. This could be good. Or it could be a complete disaster.

Over dinner, I brief the boys on the plans for the weekend. Hank immediately opts out. He doesn’t want to attend a gussied-up agriculture event. Bo tries to tell him that it’s more of a carnival with the seventy-five rides and two hundred concessions, but Hank won’t be swayed. Fortunately, Bo and Cooper are excited. And when I tell them Dane’s going to be joining us, too, Coop lets out a whoop of pleasure. “Are you serious?” he demands. “Dane Kelly’s going with us? To the fair?”

I laugh at his expression. “Yes.”

“Are we all going together or is he meeting us there?”

“I think we’re all going in one car.”

“Wow. That’s so cool.”

Even Bo’s impressed. “How did you get Dane to say yes?”

I realize the boys don’t understand how close we all were and how much time we spent together growing up. Dane Kelly isn’t just some cowboy. He was part of the family. He felt like my family. There are few people who meant more to me in my life than he did.

Manny calls the next morning to say he’s got Pop’s truck running and I can pick it up this afternoon. I phone Brick with the news, and he offers to drop me off in town.

Less than an hour later, Brick’s picked me up and we drive in silence for a few miles. I stare out the window at scenery that’s as familiar as my backyard. The 180 can be beautiful, but this section just looks neglected, the old highway marked by straggly trees, faded billboards, a rusting, abandoned car, and a gas station that was boarded up long ago.

“You’re pretty quiet today,” Brick comments, shifting gears as we approach the outskirts of Mineral Wells.

I lean back, extend my legs, study the tips of my scuffed boots. “Just relaxed. Happy.”

He shoots me a quick glance. “You look happy.”

“Yeah, I am. It’s nice for a change.”

A minute passes, and another, then Brick clears his throat. “Do those nice feelings have anything to do with your lunch with Dane?”

I get a sinking feeling in my gut. “What lunch?”

“Yesterday’s date with Dane.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“At Dixie’s,” he continues, glancing at me, his expression inscrutable. “You had to know I’d find out.”

“It was just lunch,” I say, staring out the window. This isn’t something I want to discuss with Brick.

“So you aren’t going to the fair with him this weekend? And Coop’s not training with him starting Monday?”

Sounds like Cooper was running off at the mouth this morning as Brick drove the boys to school. “Why can’t we be friends with him?”

“Because you and Dane have never just been ‘friends.’ There’s always been something more there, and the fact is, if you spend time together, whether it’s you and him, or your kids and him, people are going to talk.”

“Give me a break.”

“Shey, you’ve been in New York too long if you think folks won’t. This is a small town, and you and Dane are big celebrities.”

“I’m not a celebrity—”

“No? Then why does your crochet bikini shot still hang in many a garage and tackroom?”

“That crochet bikini shot was a lifetime ago. No one normal would still have it pinned up—”

“Don’t say that to Manny. He worked all night on the truck to get it fixed for you.”

“Manny’s got the photo up?”

“
All
your shots.” He sees my shocked expression, shakes his head. “How do you think I feel? I’m your brother, for God’s sake. I
know
what guys are thinking when they’re staring at your pictures. Especially when they’re in the men’s room.”

A few seconds pass, and I shift uncomfortably. “I take it someone called you after seeing us at Dixie’s.”

“No. Someone called Blue. Blue called me.” Brick shoots me another long look. “
After
calling Mama.”

“You’re joking.” I can’t believe Blue called Mama. I slump against the seat. “Why would Blue do that?”

Brick shrugs. “Dane’s seeing Lulu, Blue’s biggest investor.”

“And?”

“If you make trouble between Dane and Lulu, Blue’s worried he’ll lose Lulu’s support.”

“That’s ridiculous! And what did Mama say?”

The edge of Brick’s mouth lifts. “She told Blue to mind his own business.”

I sit up straighter. “She didn’t!”

His mouth quirks again. “She did. And then she called Charlotte to see if Char knew anything more than what Blue had told her.”

Oh, my God. Gossip city. Everyone calling everyone. Everyone knowing everything. “Mama didn’t call me.”

“She wouldn’t, and I doubt she’ll say anything to you next time she calls.”

“Why not?”

We’ve come to a red light, and Brick slows and shifts into neutral. We sit in silence, watching the traffic. A blue pickup passes, a silver SUV, a couple of white cars, and a guy on a bike, and then the light changes and Brick accelerates. “Because Mama always thought you’d end up with Dane.”

“
What?
”

Brick shrugs and just keeps driving.

M
anny’s put on a good twenty-five pounds since high school and now sports a trim goatee and a couple of well-placed tattoos. He greets me with a big smile and pulls out his wallet to show me pictures of his five kids.

“Five, Manny?” I tease. “You’ve certainly been busy.”

“I have a good wife and beautiful kids. I’m a lucky man.”

Manny’s always been a good guy, but I like him even better for the pride he takes in his family. “My oldest is a senior at Mineral Wells,” he adds, tapping a shot of a serious-looking teenager in a football uniform. “He’s in the ROTC program. Joining the army after school. They’re going to help pay for college. Junior will be the first one in my family to go to college. I hope the others will, too.”

I can’t help comparing his son Junior with Hank. Junior’s joined the army so he can go to college, while Hank expects the family to leverage the ranch so he can go to prep school. Hank’s sense of entitlement mortifies me, and I find myself wishing Hank were more like Junior—willing to do whatever’s necessary to go to school instead of asking everyone else to make the sacrifice.

I’ve screwed up. I haven’t taught my kids personal responsibility. I haven’t taught them well at all.

The rest of the week passes far more slowly than I’d like. I’m not normally a restless person, but waiting for Saturday makes me downright antsy.

I’m far too excited about Saturday. I have way too many hopes and expectations. I’m going to be disappointed, I know I’ll be disappointed, and I try to temper my enthusiasm, reminding myself that just because I’m still attracted to Dane, just because I have lingering feelings for him, doesn’t make him an option. The truth is, my life is complicated and my boys are demanding, and I should be focusing only on them. I should make them my sole priority.

Should…

Should…

Should…

The shoulds pile up in my mind, stacking like bricks, weighing on my conscience.

And then I push the shoulds away. It’s just a family outing to the fair. I’m not abandoning the boys. I’m not having a hot, illicit date. I’ve just asked Dane to go to the fair with us. Big deal.

And then I get that little thrill of anticipation when I least expect it, and I know it’s not just a big deal. It’s a huge deal.

On Saturday, Dane picks us up at four to drive us into Dallas. Because it’s been really hot the last few days, I’m wearing a long, slim coral spaghetti-strap sundress that should keep me cool, but I carry a jeans jacket in case I need it later tonight.

Dane’s gaze lingers on my bare shoulders as we climb into his truck. “That’s a good color on you,” he says as the boys settle into the backseat and I take the front.

I see the expression in his green eyes—it’s definitely all male—and my insides flip. He’s physical and sexual. John was nothing like this. John was sophistication and elegance, but not sex.

Never sex.

And just like a moth drawn to flame, I look up into Dane’s eyes again. The heat’s still there.

In his eyes I’m beautiful.

In his eyes I’m still young, fierce, headstrong Shey.

Thank God.

Thank God someone, somewhere, still sees the real me. The me I lost. The me I miss.

“You look pretty good, too,” I say, cheeks flushed, skin glowing sensitive and hot.

“You like my T-shirt?” he drawls, eyes resting lazily, provocatively, on my face.

I blush again and squirm inwardly. It is just a T-shirt, isn’t it? “It’s a nice one,” I say weakly, thinking I’ll never survive a night with him. Not when I feel this much. Not when I want this much.

I dig this guy.

I dig him a lot.

The edge of Dane’s mouth curls as if he can read my mind. Then he shifts into drive and we’re off.

We enter the fairgrounds at five after six, as it took twenty minutes just to find parking and then another fifteen to walk from where we parked to the main gate. Dane doesn’t exactly spring to the entrance, but he does all right with his cane. The boys walk a little ahead of us, discussing what they’re going to eat, see, and do. Corn dogs and fried Twinkies are high on the eat list. Riding the roller coasters are a must on the to-do list. And maybe, just maybe, there will be cute girls here tonight, too. Bo’s hands gesture animatedly as he talks. Coop laughs as he listens.

“It’s nice to see them having fun together,” I say, watching the two joke around. “More often than not, they fight.”

“Boys do that,” Dane answers.

“It grows old. All the posturing and competing.”

“That’s testosterone, darlin’.”

“I know. Still.”

We’ve reached the front and I move toward the long ticket line, but Dane stops me, shows me that he’s already purchased them. “I’m impressed,” I say, eyebrows arching. “How did you do that?”

“I’m connected,” he answers with a grin, steering us into the fair with the fifty-two-foot-tall cowboy statue everyone calls Big Tex. It’s been a fair icon since 1952, and the fair wouldn’t be our state fair without it.

The boys want to go straight to the rides, so I hand them each a twenty to buy tickets and let them go ahead to purchase them.

“I was thinking about what you told me about Bo,” Dane says as we watch the kids run to get in line at the little ticket booth. “Bo has a problem controlling his temper?”

I can see Bo laughing as he and Cooper jockey for position in line. “Not anger per se, but depression. He was diagnosed a couple years ago and we took him to counseling and it seemed to help, but he hasn’t seen anyone since John’s and my separation, and I just worry about him. If someone could just guarantee that he’d be okay, that the depression won’t return, that he won’t be bipolar. If someone could just make it okay…”

“But that’s your job,” Dane says. “No one can make it okay for you. You have to make it okay.”

“How?”
There’s panic in my voice, panic and desperation.

“By making peace with life, and our lack of control. Because we have no control. We never have. Never will. Sometimes we think we do, but it’s an illusion.”

I hear what Dane’s saying, but he can’t be right. Maybe we don’t have total control, but we have some, and that has to be enough. Enough to protect our families. Enough to allow us to live happy lives. “I refuse to believe I can’t help Bo—”

“Oh, you can try, but you can’t protect him, or save him. And sometimes all your best efforts to help won’t change the outcome.”

“I can’t accept that.”

“I couldn’t either.”

Bo has bought his tickets and Coop’s purchasing his now. “I won’t lose Bo,” I say. “I can’t. It’d kill me.”

“It won’t kill you,” Dane answers after a moment as the boys run back to meet us. “But there are times you wish it would.”

I look up at him. His expression is neutral, but there are shadows in his eyes.

I want to say something, but we’re not the people we once were. We lack the easy familiarity of the past, and we haven’t spent enough time together to have established anything new. Maybe one day, I tell myself as I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, before reaching out to touch his hand.

Monday after school, I drive Cooper to Dane’s place. He’s excited and nervous and doesn’t talk much on the way there. “You going to be okay?” I ask him as we approach the big stone house.

He’s dressed in Wranglers, boots, and a dark denim shirt and has the rest of his gear in a duffel bag. Coop nods his head yes.

I spot Dane’s black truck parked down by the barn where he breeds his champion bucking bulls, bulls coveted by the professional rodeo association for their ability to kick, buck, spin, and move. A great bull doesn’t kick or jump just in a straight line, but also from side to side. This is what every cowboy hopes to draw, as half the points in the bull-riding event go to the bull and the other half go to the cowboy’s skill in sticking to the bull.

As we pull up next to the corral, a handsome red colt runs around the ring, shaking his head and kicking up his heels. I suspect he’s not yet broken. I look at Coop and feel butterflies in my stomach. Dane may be an expert at breaking colts and riding bulls, but Cooper’s only experience with livestock is with our mares, and they’re old and placid and easy to lead.

“You want me to stay?” I ask him as Dane emerges from the barn.

Cooper shakes his head. “No. You’ll just make it worse.”

“How?”

“You know what’s going to happen. I’m going to get bucked off, thrown, head-butted, kicked, and who knows what else. It’s going to hurt. You’re going to cry. And Dane’s just going to get mad. So go home and come back in two hours.”

I stare at this reed-thin boy of mine. Twelve years old and taller than most men. “Sounds awful. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

He looks at me and his eyes are a bright, brilliant blue. There’s fear in his eyes but excitement, too. “I never wanted anything half so much.” And then he opens the door, jumps out of the truck, and heads toward Dane without a glance back.

Dane waits for Coop by the corral, a rope over his shoulder. I want to roll down my window and shout to Dane to be careful, to warn him that Coop’s a greenhorn and still my baby. But I can see from Dane’s expression that he already knows.

So I leave the window up, raise a hand in farewell, and drive away.

The sun is setting as I return to Dane’s ranch to pick up my son. Coop is dusty and bleeding as he half hobbles, half runs toward the truck. “That was crazy, Mom,” he pants, climbing into the truck. “Scary, crazy, and so much fun.”

“What’s bleeding?” I ask, tilting his head up.

“My upper lip. Oh, and I need to get a different mouth guard. This one was too big, and Dane says I could lose a tooth.”

Great.

Dane walks to my side of the truck, and I roll down the window. “He needs a better mouth guard,” Dane says.

I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the setting sun’s rays to get a better look at Dane, who looks so tough and sexy that it makes my insides melt. “He just told me.”

“But otherwise he did great. He’s surprisingly comfortable. Don’t know that I’d go so far as to call him a natural, but he has a good center of gravity. Nice sense of balance. Today we worked on keeping his feet heavy and low and all his weight centered evenly in his thighs and hips.”

“You didn’t ride?”

“No, I had him on the mechanical bull and covered the basics. Showed him how to put on the bull rope, hold the rope with the riding glove, had him stand on the slats and lower himself onto the back of the steer—”

“What steer?”

“The one I rode,” Coop explains with a swollen-lip grin.

I look at Dane, and for the first time it crosses my mind that John would not want Coop pursuing this. “He rode a steer today? His first day?”

Dane’s powerful shoulders shift. “Thought we’d see how he’d do. And he did good. Better than I thought.”

“It wasn’t a bull,” Coop pipes up. “Just a steer, Mom. That’s what the kids my age compete on. Although next year when I’m thirteen I’ll ride old bulls, ones that don’t kick too hard.”

I hear what Coop’s saying, but I’m still looking at Dane. “Do you know what you’re doing, Kelly?” I ask under my breath.