The Sweet Spot Page 10

  Don’t forget, for all his salesman’s arguments, he lied to you about the bimbo. He’s got an agenda you don’t know about. You can’t trust a liar.

  But what if the Jimmy she’d sensed in his touch the other night had been real? What if her Jimmy was still in there somewhere? She remembered his hand on her elbow, remembered his hands other places on countless moonlit nights.

  She shook the whimsy out of her head. What would people say? Poor Charla Rae, bless her heart, sucked in again.

  Besides, if he came back, you’d lose your job; go back in this memory-stuffed house, full time. She heard the whisper of Valium from the box in the garage where she’d hidden it from herself.

  If she fell in that hole again, she’d never have the guts to climb back out.

  Nope, she couldn’t risk it.

  Are you sure there isn’t one more reason, Charla? Are you afraid if he was around all the time you’d forget you’re mad at him? He’s a good-looking man, and he’s single agai—

  “Mom. Cut me some slack. I’m doing my best here. Besides, even if I was worried about that, which I am not, it would be another reason not to let him back on the place, wouldn’t it?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Besides, I’ve done well, taking on the ranching chores, birthing the calf, handling things.”

  Her shoulders slumped under with the familiar weight of worry. She didn’t have the physical strength to train the bulls, even if she had the knowledge, which she didn’t.

  “There’s got to be another way.” Leaning her forearms on the counter, Char stared at the dining room wall. If she could only lay her hands on some cash, she’d be okay. All she needed was enough to hire a trainer for one season. By next year, maybe Jimmy’s betrayal wouldn’t burn like the exposed meat of a raw wound. Surely it couldn’t. Could it?

  Her glance lingered on the dusty china hutch. One more thing to put on the li—“Wait.” She sidestepped the counter and the table, to stand before the glass-fronted cabinet housing her great-grandmother’s china. She squinted at the busy brown-and-cream pattern. Horses pulled sleighs through muddy-looking snow, saltbox-style houses set off in brown curlicue frames, men in tricorns escorted big-skirted women. Her mother had dubbed the collection “the patriotic burden.” They’d laughed about the hideous stuff. In her memory, it had never been out of the hutch save for an obligatory annual wash. “Could I really?”

  She could. It was ugly, but what did she expect from something over a hundred and fifty years old? It had to be worth a pretty penny. Putting an Internet search at the top of the to-do list in her mind, she whistled on her way down the hall to wake her dad.

  Women. JB dropped the cell phone on the truck seat. God, he was sick to death of them: their judgmental attitudes and their uneven tempers.

  He’d been married to Charla for twenty-two years and still couldn’t figure her out. He pulled the toothpick from his mouth and tossed it out the window. Time to quit sniffing around women and focus on the important stuff. Of his three jobs, only the PBR event announcer remained. Reaching down, he loosened the buckle digging in his gut.

  Time to get his feet under him again.

  There’s no way he could afford another apartment, given his job uncertainty as well as the expenses for Ben’s nurse. If Charla knew he’d done that, she’d have thrown a wall-eyed fit. But it was obvious she needed help with Ben. Help she was too proud to ask for. He smiled to himself. He admired the hell out of that plucky woman, even if her claws could shred him. Divorce or no, Ben was family. And JB intended to take care of his own.

  It was the “how” part he wasn’t sure of.

  He still had no access to train his own bulls. Hell, he’d sleep in a barn, if he could lease pasture space somewhere for them, but he couldn’t afford that either. The Galts lived outside Kerrville, a quaint town about twenty miles from Fredericksburg. The commute wouldn’t be too bad.

  He turned off the county asphalt to the dirt road that led to Wiley’s house. When dust blew in, he raised the windows and swerved to miss the worst of the washboard ruts.

  I should’ve pushed harder with Little Bit to let me back on the ranch.

  “Oh yeah, you’re a real gentleman.” Guilt settled on him like the grit billowing onto the uncovered boxes of belongings in the truck bed. “Lean on the grieving mother, with an old man who’s losing it, who’s trying to run the ranch by herself.”

  He could only blame himself for the situation. If he hadn’t lied about his relationship with Jess, things may not have been so bad with Little Bit.

  He snorted. He’d lived here all his life. Had he really thought that a juicy secret like his affair with a coed wouldn’t hit the street like cars at the start of an Indy race? But Char’s question that day had caught him flat-footed, and denial was the first thing that fell out of his mouth. He’d meant to go back later, to explain. But explain what, exactly? He knew Char. To her, a separation wouldn’t negate their marriage vows.

  Hell, it wouldn’t to him either if he’d been in his right mind.

  Shit. Good thing he was swearing off women.

  He turned at the white aluminum sign announcing “Galt’s Goats” onto the dirt track that served as Wiley’s driveway, pulled up to the tiny aluminum-sided house, and shut off the engine. He gathered his gifts from the floorboard: a bouquet of spring flowers for Dana, a garish pink stuffed pig for the baby, and a six-pack for Wiley.

  Grabbing his cowboy hat from the gun rack behind him, he settled it on his head. “Last stop, JB. You can’t blow this one.”

  Bella wore the black faux leather like chain mail. It hugged every curve, bend, and hollow. As the woman crossed the sidewalk to the car, Char let her eyes slide to the knee-high stiletto slouch boots with silver chains across the instep, jingling like a cowboy’s spurs with every step.

  She leaned across the seat and clicked open the passenger side door. “I didn’t think to tell you, but women hereabouts don’t generally dress up for a trip to the Clip ’n Curl.”

  Bella slinked in and slammed the door, her sea of black curls taking up almost as much space as her body. Her earrings matched the silver chains on her boots, and one strand stretched to a diamond stud in her nostril. She noticed Char’s stare. “Don’t worry, it’s a magnet, not a piercing.” She reached for the seat belt. “I figure I’ve got a closetful of New York badass black, and if there was ever a day for it, it’s today.” The buckle snapped with a decisive click.

  Char glanced down at her own outfit. An old-lady seersucker blue-and-white-striped blouse with embroidered daisies, pedal pushers, and slip-on tennis shoes. “How about I drop you off and I’ll go shopping? I owe you a manicure for working on the ranch, but I don’t need to go.”

  Bella stared through the windshield, a muscle working in her jaw. “If you think I’m going into that wolf’s den alone, you’d better think again.”

  Char chuckled and put the car in gear. “Don’t tell me a tough city girl like you is afraid of a bunch of good ol’ country gals. I don’t believe it.” She wheeled out of the apartment complex into the traffic on North Washington.

  “You’re kidding, right? Those women would eat their own young, then gossip while they picked their teeth with the bones.” Bella fingered the rings on her necklace as if they were prayer beads.

  “Why don’t you have your rings resized? I know a great jeweler. In fact, we’ll be going right by there.”

  “No, way. Russ gave them to me, and they’re not coming off my body.” Bella’s hand fisted over the rings. “Not for anything.”

  Char turned at the Nimitz Home and Museum at East Main and headed downtown. “When am I going to meet this mystery man, anyway?”

  “Right now he’s only home for two days at a time.” Bella dropped a wink. “I’m not letting him out of bed longer than it takes to pay for a pizza.”

  An ancient memory broke the surface of Char’s brain. She and Jimmy, just married, living in the apartment. Sex, no longer illicit, became th
eir favorite hobby. They’d whiled away the weekends playing in bed. She’d imprinted his long body lines into her brain, the taste of his skin onto her tongue. And he… he had made her scream.

  A small puff of nostalgia escaped her lips before she could catch it. “You sound so happy. What’s he like?”

  Bella’s tense features relaxed. “He’s one of the original computer geeks. You know, one of those chess club, D&D, gamer guys from high school?” She turned to Char with a wicked smile. “He’s now the chief information officer of a multinational credit firm.” She sat back with a sigh. “And he loves me. He loved me when I met him my first year of college, when I was fat and pretty darned unlovable.”

  “Do you really believe your weight—”

  “No, I don’t mean my weight. You may find this hard to believe, but at one time in my life, I had a Rock of Gibraltar–sized chip on my shoulder.”

  “No!”

  Bella chuckled and fluffed her hair. “I haven’t always been the model of deportment you see before you today.”

  Char wheeled into the parking lot and slid into one of the few remaining spots. She turned off the car and grabbed her purse from the floorboard.

  Bella sat assessing her. “Have you ever thought of getting some highlights?”

  Char shook her head.

  “Nothing crazy. I’m talking about a lighter shade of blond on the top layer and around your face.” Bella cocked her head. “It would brighten your skin and set off those cornflower blue eyes.”

  Char looked in the rearview mirror at herself. Same blond, shoulder-length hair she’d had since high school, caught up in the usual ponytail. But the light through the sunroof shone off the silver. When had that happened? Char ducked her head. Yeah, and then comes a touch-up every six weeks at forty bucks a pop. “Nah, maybe just a cut.” Char pulled herself out of the car. Bella unfurled from it like a starlet on the red carpet. She looked from herself to Bella. “We look like a joke about the grandma and the dominatrix.”

  Bella let out a startled bark of laughter. Then her face sobered as she looked toward the Clip ’n Curl. “I’m regretting the decision to leave my leather whip home.”

  As they approached the salon, Bella’s steps shortened, and her chin got higher.

  She balked at the door, a little girl’s uncertainty on her face. Char leaned over, pulled the door open, and held it for her friend. “Come on, sista. I’ll show you round the ’hood.”

  They walked in laughing.

  Saturday was the busiest day at the salon. Every station was occupied, with several women perched on floral couches rifling through magazines in the waiting area. One by one, the women fell silent. Char could almost hear the necks creak as faces swiveled toward the door. The women on dryer row eyed them from under their clear plastic helmets. Char waved to Penny, her hairdresser, who pretended to have her hands full of electric curlers for Ms. Richardson’s steel-gray hair. She gave a tiny shake of her head.

  Well, Bella’s outfits did tend to smack the eye. The girls would settle once they got used to it. She took her friend’s elbow, led her to the manicurist, and put her in the chair. “Now, Denise, I owe this lady a lot, so you give her the works, y’hear?” Her voice rang in the quiet room. She turned and, cocking an eyebrow, stared them down. Glances sidled away, and the interrupted conversations started up once more. Though she felt sure the subject had changed.

  She patted Bella’s shoulder, then strode to Penny’s now-vacant chair. “Penny, I do believe it’s officially summer. That calls for a change.” She plopped down and looked at her tired face in the lighted mirror. “I need highlights.” She tilted her head. “And maybe some bangs. What do you think?”

  Two hours later, Char tilted her chin to see the back of her head in the mirror Penny held.

  “You look fabulous.” Bella stood behind her chair, beaming at her in the lighted mirror. “Five years younger, at least.”

  Char swallowed. She looked so different. The highlighted blond bangs and wispy sides framed her thin face, softening the hard lines, setting off her eyes. She didn’t dislike the woman who stared back at her; it’s just that she wasn’t sure who she was. Well, given the past year, maybe that’s not a bad thing. She reached for her checkbook. “I think I like it.”

  Bella chimed in. “Well, good, because we’re going for ice cream to celebrate. My treat.”

  As Char scribbled the check, her ears picked up threads of the beauty shop babble around her.

  “So I told him, I am not leaving my mother—”

  “… right in the PTA board meeting. Can you believe it?”

  Char tore the check out of the book and handed it to Penny.

  “You heard she was thrown out of that grief group over at Saint Luke’s, right?”

  Penny’s eyes skittered to Char’s, then away. She took the check, a red stain flooding her face.

  “After all she’s been through, we shouldn’t be surprised, bless her heart.”

  “Betty told me that hussy solicited her husband at the feed store. Something’s got to be done.”

  No mistaking Toni Bergstrom’s strident whisper. Char felt Bella snap to attention at her side.

  She flicked her glance to the mirror. Bella’s delicate eyebrows gathered over the storm in her eyes. Now that’s enough. Char reached in her purse and pulled out the car keys. “Hon, would you mind starting the car for me? I’ve got one thing to take care of, and I’ll be right there.”

  Bella shot her a rebellious look.

  Char returned it, saying under her breath “My ’hood, remember? I’ll handle it.”

  Bella snatched the keys, turned, and put an extra roll in her hips as she strolled slowly to the door, holding the eye of every woman brave enough to stare.

  The door closed behind her.

  Righteous anger pounded in the pulse banging through the veins of Char’s neck. “Hey!” Char’s strident voice silenced the room. “Ladies.” She inhaled a deep breath, then recited the Pledge of Allegiance in her head to calm down. Yelling would only give the biddies more gossip fodder. Besides, it wasn’t needed. You could hear a hairpin drop in the salon.

  “I am not going to stand here and preach to you. I’ll leave that to the church y’all will visit tomorrow.” She shot a meaningful look around the room. Several women had the grace to look away. “I’ve known most of you my entire life, and there are way too many glass houses here for all the rocks flying around.” She shot a pointed glance at Toni Bergstrom, who flushed but held her stare. Char’s brave tone faltered. “God knows, I’ve got way too much glass of my own to be throwing them.

  “When I first met Bella, I judged her like ya’ll are doing right now: the outrageous too-young clothes, her loud Yankee accent…” She smiled and shook her head. “That hot body.”

  Toni Bergstrom opened her mouth but closed it when Char pointed at her.

  “Bella Donovan is a married, caring woman who moved to our town four months ago. In all that time, not one of us deigned to speak with her. In spite of that, she helped me when I didn’t know how to ask for help.” She put her purse strap over her shoulder. “I’m proud to call her my friend.” She held her chin up as she strode the gauntlet of chairs to the exit.

  A bell tinkled as she pulled the glass door open. “So if you need somebody to talk about, you can talk about me. There’s enough meat on that bone for you to chew on for weeks, I’m sure. But give her a rest.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Courage is going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm.

  —Winston Churchill

  And this is your room.” Wiley walked through the open doorway to the screened-in porch.

  JB looked around the box in his arms, careful that he didn’t trip over the step down. Added as a pleasant haven from bugs on warm summer evenings, the porch did double duty as a storage room. Bicycles leaned against the house, mud boots and discarded outdoor shoes lined up next to the step. Opaque storage containers marched alo
ng the knee-high outside perimeter, screens stretched above them to the sloping ceiling. Two plastic webbed lawn chairs faced the yard, a scarred white table between them. Tucked against the wall to his right sat a narrow fold-down cot, made up neatly with a faded patchwork quilt.

  Wiley set his box in a corner and dusted his hands. “It’s not much, I know, but we used the spare bedroom for the baby.”

  JB dropped his box of clothes on the bed. “Are you kidding? With the pretty summer we’ve got, you’re going to want to trade rooms with me.” He crossed the patio bricks, hand extended. “I’m sorry as hell to barge in on you like this, partner. It happened so fast.” He let the lame excuse dangle.

  “You’re welcome for as long as you want to stay, JB. We’re proud to have you.” Wiley’s firm grip underscored the welcome. He turned his head at a muffled infant’s cry from the back of the house. “Well, there’s the dinner bell. Why don’t you wash up? We’ll bring in the rest of the boxes after we eat.”

  Ten minutes later, JB stood beside a chair at the plastic-tablecloth-clad dining room table.

  When Dana bustled in, put a plate of biscuits on the table, and sat, JB pulled out his chair and did the same.

  “Sorry for the informality, but here lately, if it’s not easy to clean up, it’s put up.” Dana smiled. Her husband deftly avoided his son’s grasping hands to fasten a bib around his neck.

  JB had met Dana before but had always found her a bit different: an owl in a henhouse. A tiny thing, with short spiked hair and an athlete’s body, she owned the local gym and training center in town. The gym made good money, so when they decided to start a family, Wiley offered to be Mr. Mom, staying home with the baby during the day, traveling weekends to PBR events. It seemed odd to JB, but Wiley appeared content.

  Dana filled two bowls with steaming stew, then passed the dish to him. Wiley waved a spoonful of orange goop in front of the baby. “Come on, Monty, you know you love this repulsive stuff.”