Taking the Bull by the Horns (11 page)

"Lavender! Damn it, Lavender!"

He grabbed her arm just before she left the barn. She turned to him, full-on crying, her nose red, her eyes flashing.

"Lavender, what the hell?"

"I can't do this,” she choked out and wrenched her arm free as flashes went off around them.

Too late, damn it, he saw the reporters outside the barn, all focused on him.

"I'm sorry,” she murmured, and slipped through the reporters, who closed behind her, blocking his path. When he pushed through them, ignoring their shouted questions and the flashing lights, Lavender had disappeared.

"Craig! You're up!"

He wanted to ignore the summons, wanted to go after Lavender. But she was so wound up, would she listen to him? Would he even know what to say?

Blowing out a breath, he jammed his hands on his hips, then pivoted to get Angelina. At least there was one female he understood.

Or, maybe not. Just a few seconds later, Taylor lay in the dirt and stared at the fluttering colored flags on the roof of the Wayback Rodeo. Timing was everything and when he'd jumped from Angelina, he'd missed the calf and landed on his ass. Flashes went off and he closed his eyes. Great. Just great.

Taylor slammed the shot glass down on the counter, upside down and empty. Only a couple of the reporters had followed him to the Blue Bug, the others had hopefully given up. These two were likely taking note of the empty glasses and his increasingly drunken state, something he'd been cautious about back in the day. But he could care less what they thought of him now.

If only he could reason out why Lavender had a change of heart. Well, he thought he knew why—her mother had taken off and she was tied here with her grandmother, but hell, the old lady was well enough to travel. For God's sake, Taylor wasn't trying to separate the two, abandon the old woman. He had gone to the house after the rodeo to reason with Lavender and she hadn't even answered the door.

He'd never taken her for a coward.

He scowled over his shoulder at the reporters. Maybe that's who had made her run, those scavengers who'd shown up at their motel room. Maybe they'd chased her away.

He probed the floor with the toe of his boot, making sure it was still where he thought it was, and stood, body tense, ready for a fight.

A soft hand slid across his shoulder and he turned to look into familiar green eyes.

"Hey, cowboy, want to dance?” Roxie asked.

Taylor swayed for a minute, trying to remember if he'd ever seen Roxie ask anyone to dance. He couldn't recall. And hell, he was in no shape to dance with her.

She tucked an arm around his chest to turn him, then guided him to the floor.

"Roxie,” he protested with a shake of his head that made his stomach roil.

"Where's our girl?” Roxie asked once she propped him up on the dance floor and slipped into his arms.

"Home with her granny.” Way to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Roxie sighed and swayed in the semblance of a dance. “I heard Eleanor took off again."

That gave him a jolt. Was that why she'd bolted? No, it couldn't be. She'd talked about “when” Eleanor left, not “if.” “I don't think it was too much of a surprise to Lavender."

"It wouldn't be. Eleanor left for the first time when Lavender was fifteen. She's been back off and on, but never this long."

"Where's her dad? She never said."

"That's why Eleanor took off the first time, to find him. But Gertrude had just had her stroke, and Lavender was left alone to care for her."

"When she was fifteen.” Jesus. She'd had to grow up fast, too.

"So our girl has some abandonment issues."

Taylor stiffened. “I haven't abandoned her."

"Yet."

He stopped even pretending to dance, dropped his hands away. “That's why she broke off with me? So I wouldn't break off with her first?"

"I don't know, Taylor. I just know she's hurting right now, and I know she cares for you. I wanted you to understand what she's going through, and feel sorry for her instead of feeling sorry for yourself."

With that, she spun away and abandoned him on the dance floor.

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Lavender wouldn't have known about her pictures in the tabloids if Eleanor hadn't refused to buy Gertrude coffee. So Lavender found herself in line at the Dixie Pig staring a lonely copy of a newspaper print tabloid with a picture of her in Taylor's room, wearing Taylor's shirt. The headline read, “Taylor's Tubby Texan."

Well, add insult to injury, why not?

The night in Taylor's hotel room, the reporters, all came back in a rush. She hadn't even considered the consequences of that, she'd been so wrapped up in her mother's abandonment. But before she could inspect the detail further, a hand yanked that last copy from the wire rack and Lavender looked into the guilty eyes of Jerri Kidwell.

Okay, maybe she would have found out sooner rather than later.

"I wanted to get it off the rack before anyone else saw it,” Jerri lied quickly.

Lavender ignored her and turned to Pam, the checker. “Are there any more copies?"

"No, dear, we sold out in just a matter of hours. I could see about ordering some more, if you like."

"Right. To add to my scrapbook."

Pam beamed. “Exactly!"

"I don't think so.” Lavender backed out of the store, heartsick. So everyone in town had a copy of her shame but her.

She drove home—without the coffee, damn it—in a blur. What would the repercussions of this be? How long would they last?

Could she lose her job? Her heart plummeted at the thought. If she lost her job, how could she support herself and Gertrude? The house was paid for but it was old and the upkeep was almost as much as a mortgage.

She dragged herself into the kitchen of the house she loved, toward the living room where she would tell Gertrude that she hadn't gotten the coffee though she wouldn't tell her why.

She'd barely reached the hallway when the doorbell rang.

Her mind elsewhere, Lavender wearily swept her hair back from her face and didn't think before twisting the knob and swinging it open.

"Lavender Prouty? Taylor Creighton's lover?"

If she'd looked through the beveled glass first, she would have known this young man didn't belong in Wayback, not with his suit and tie and the spiky haircut. And he moved quick, angling his body between the doorjamb and the door, gambling that her mood wasn't foul enough to hurt him.

"Not his lover,” she said wearily.

The young man's expressive mouth turned down in exaggerated skepticism. “If I'm not mistaken, you spent almost a week with him in his motel room.” He whipped out a copy of the tabloid, trailing his fingers down her bare legs in the photograph.

She shuddered at the motion. “It was nowhere near serious."

Expressive Boy rolled his eyes. “Of course it wasn't. He's Taylor Creighton and he's never given a girl more than a week. Honestly. But I was hoping that you might be able to give us more insight on Taylor and where he's been these past six years."

"Not interested.” She slipped behind the door to close it, thinking he would move out of the way.

Wrong. He jittered even closer. “I'm Evan Zander with Celebrities Tonight. It would be an exclusive interview and we would pay you serious bucks."

Lavender frowned. “What do you want to know? I mean, he's not famous anymore."

Evan cocked his head. “Don't you just love those ‘Where Are They Now?’ stories? We pay very well, especially since the rest of the band is getting together now and could use the publicity. The more details you can share, the better. Based on this picture,” He tapped the picture. “You have a lot of details."

Lavender blushed and glanced over her shoulder, hoping her grandmother didn't hear.

"Fifty thousand dollars, Lavender, sweetie. You could blow this joint."

She cocked a hip. “Fifty thousand dollars to tell you about Taylor Creighton. Why would I do that?"

He rolled his head as if trying to find Taylor somewhere in the vicinity. “Because he left you, babe. And payback can be a bitch."

"But I'm not.” As politely as she could manage, she pushed his shoulder out of the way and closed the door, sagging against it and ignoring the little man still on the other side.

Why had she listened to her heart instead of reason? Why had she convinced herself being happy with Taylor for a few short days was worth the pain? Because it wasn't. He was gone and nothing was worth this.

Taylor leaned one hand against the post on the front porch and stared out at the wilting roses he'd had planted along the driveway when he'd come back from Wayback the first time, trying to emulate Lavender's lovely garden. He should have known—he'd never nurtured anything with any success.

Certainly not Lavender.

And if anyone needed nurturing, she did. She'd spent so long taking care of other people and he'd let her kick him out without a fight.

Way to show he cared for her.

"Mr. Creighton, you have a phone call.” Mrs. Bennigan came up behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Who is it?” Reporters hadn't found him here in Alpine yet, but it was only a matter of time before a reporter weaseled the information out of someone back in Wayback or from the rodeo.

"Some woman."

His heart jolted. Lavender?

"She addressed you as Mr. Craig. I didn't get her name."

He turned and stopped himself from chiding her, reminding her that her job was to find out, but he didn't have the energy for a confrontation. Instead, he moved past her and picked up the phone, hoping to hear Lavender's voice.

And being disappointed.

"Mr. Craig,” Gertrude Cates said stiffly. “What do you mean leaving my girl here to deal with this on her own?"

"Deal with what?"

"Are you kidding? Do you think those reporters left when you did?"

He rubbed his hand over his forehead, perplexed. “What are you talking about?"

"They're offering her all kinds of money, calling at all hours—her picture was in the tabloids, nearly naked. She won't leave the house, and they've got people talking about whether or not she's a suitable teacher. All because of you!"

The last bit followed him out the door as he dropped the handset and raced for his truck and Wayback.

Lavender would have given anything for some of Daisy's brownies. She bounced her keys in her palm and stood at the kitchen door, working up the nerve to walk out to her car. Why couldn't Gertrude drive, just that little bit? Lavender didn't want to face anyone, especially not hunting for comfort food. The reporters had left, but their damage was done, worse than any fallout she could have expected from her scene at the Blue Bug. She didn't want to deal with the judgment of anyone who'd seen that awful picture, or heard about it. Good thing school was out and she could hide until, like Taylor said, this blew over.

The need for privacy outweighed the need for brownies. She tossed the keys on the counter, watched them slide into the coffee maker, then jumped when the phone rang. She scowled at the instrument on the wall and spun to leave the room, only to freeze when a low, slow drawl came over the answering machine.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are."

She snatched up the handset with unseemly haste. “Taylor?"

"Come to the window."

Her heart jolted. “You're here?” She looked out the front window and saw an unfamiliar truck, a big shiny silver job, not the battered Ford she was used to. “Where?"

"Back window."

She rushed across the kitchen to the sun porch and saw Taylor in the center of her yard, among her roses, sun shining on his hair, head tilted toward the house.

Looking for her.

"Good thing I didn't give into the urge to buy a dog,” she said into the phone, then hung up before walking out onto the steps.

He flipped his phone closed and tucked it into the front pocket of his jeans as he moved toward her. “I hear you're a celebrity around here."

She tossed her head and stepped onto the grass. “Someone had to be, since you weren't around."

The shine in his eyes dulled as he came closer. “You told me to go."

She folded her arms over her chest. “I did. So why are you back?"

"Why do you think?” He skimmed the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

"Needed some time in the spotlight?"

Now the curve of his lips flattened and he dropped his hand away. “What?"

"Or are you afraid I'll sell the details of our affair?"

Shock slackened his face and he moved back. “Are you kidding me? You don't think I trust you any more than that? And, Jesus, you can tell them any damn thing you want about me. I don't care. I came back for you, to be with you, to make your life easier. Can't you trust me even that much?"

Chastened, Lavender backed away, stumbled on the step. She'd been so happy to see him, yet the first thing she'd done was attack him?

Of course. Hadn't she chased her mother away with the same behavior? Did she want him to go, or was she just testing him?

Whichever, it wasn't fair to him, but now that she'd lashed out, she didn't know how to draw the words back. She didn't know how to get him to touch her again, to look at her with that shine in his eyes, with that crooked smile.

She didn't know how to earn it. But she had to try.

"You—came back for me?” She hated the shyness, the uncertainty in her own voice.

"Yes, damn it. I love you and I hate being away from you."

This time when she stumbled, she sat down, hard, on the step behind her and stared at him. “What? What did you say?"

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, he braced his hands on his hips. “I said—"

She reached up, grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down on the step beside her, wincing just a little when she felt the fabric give beneath her nails. “I know what you said. So ... What does that mean?"

"I don't know what it means.” He swept both hands through his hair, shoving it back before looking at her. “I know I've missed you, that I wished you were with me, that I think about you all the time. And I know you can't be with me because of your grandmother."