The Sweet Spot Page 13

  “Had you ever heard of any of them? Know any of them personally?”

  “No.”

  He pushed his hat back on his head. “He gave you the phone numbers of his friends, and they vouched for him.”

  Her shoulders slumped. Her hat hid her face as she stared at her boots, but he heard the shake in her voice. “I’m sorry, Jimmy. I know it’s my fault. I put the stock in danger. I just wanted so badly—”

  He couldn’t help it. He snapped, “Did it even occur to you that you were hiring a trainer for bulls that don’t belong to you?” She cringed as if he’d raised his hand instead of his voice. Guilt bit into his stomach lining. Jeez, Denny, kick a woman when she’s down—you’re not much better than Gandy. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Charla Rae.”

  When she looked up, the regret in her blue eyes pierced him.

  “I was afraid. It just came out as mad, and I’m sorry.” He pulled off his hat, to run his shaking hands through his hair. “It’s just that I pulled up and saw that SOB coming at you with a Hot-Shot…” He blew out a breath. It was shaky too. “I’m going to have nightmares about what could have happened next for a long time.”

  Did she really hate him so much that she’d rather have a sleazebag like Gandy helping out around the place?

  Looking down at the hurt in her eyes, he figured he knew the answer.

  His words came out scratchy as sandpaper. “Charla, let me come back to work the bulls.” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s the only logical solution, Hon. Who has a more vested interest in them than me? Besides, my price is right, and you know I would never do anything to hurt you or the animals.” He gave her his best smile.

  He couldn’t tell her that he missed her more than the ranch or his bulls. That all he wanted was to be close to her, to be a family again. She’d throw him off the property for sure if she knew. Instead, he had to go slow. Maybe if she trusted him to help out with the ranch, she’d trust him with other things, like her heart.

  He noticed the minute she stopped listening. He recognized the look—that she’d heard it all, had been down every one of those roads.

  Well, she probably had. He snapped his mouth closed. Pork Chop stomped a foot to dislodge a fly. A cow in the pasture lowed to her calf. He took a breath. “I know you have no reason to trust me, Charla Rae. And guess I don’t deserve your trust.” He stuffed his hands in his back pockets and looked her in the eye. “But when it comes to the ranch and the bulls, I don’t fool around. I’ll make you a deal, a business deal.”

  She watched him, wary as a rabbit without a hole in hawk country.

  “Let me come back, to work the stock for a month. If, at the end of that month, you still don’t want me here, I’ll find you a trainer.”

  She cocked her head, looking for a trap.

  “And I’ll pay half his wages out of my pocket.” He raised his hands slow, palm out. “Straight up.”

  She looked to the grazing herd in the pasture and thought on it.

  “Well, the bulls have got to be trained.” She shrugged. “And after what I did, I guess I owe you.”

  He relaxed for the first time since he’d driven up. A reprieve. A chance to try to make it up to her. Maybe she’d see that it was possible for them to be a team.

  And who knew? Maybe having him around would remind her of the good times, and how they were together. God knows, he didn’t need any reminders—nowadays, it seemed to be all he thought about.

  “I want one thing clear between us, Jimmy.” She squinted up at him. “Not one of your women is to step foot on the place. Ever.”

  “Not a problem. Don’t have any.” Before he could see how that registered, he turned and walked for the truck.

  To still have her back up about other women after all this time, she had to care.

  Didn’t she?

  Char retrieved the milk from the refrigerator, unscrewed the cap, and sniffed it. Satisfied it wasn’t spoiled, she carried it to the counter.

  What kind of idiot hires a trainer for bulls she doesn’t own? Maybe I’m better off in the house, with what I know. The Valium itch crawled over her brain, stronger than it had been in days. And do what? Rearrange closets? If that’s all I can do, I might as well get the dang bottle and take them all.

  She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to let Jimmy back on the property. Worry zinged under her skin, raising goose bumps. How could she work side by side with him, a constant reminder of her life before?

  She’d known him over half of her life. Would that make it easier for her to fall back into the Jimmy habit?

  She stared at the baking soda that she’d sifted into her bowl of baking powder biscuits. “Of all the bone-headed, stupid—focus, Charla.”

  Her dad looked up from the photo album on the kitchen table. “What’s the matter, hon?”

  She picked up the bowl and dumped the contents in the trash. “Oh, I’m just discombobulated tonight, Daddy.” She snagged the bag of flour on her way back to the counter. “I’m as awkward as a high-schooler on the first day of home ec.”

  He patted the seat next to him. “Come set a minute. Dinner can wait.”

  She wiped her hands on her apron and rounded the counter. He’d lost the ability to read, but since Rosa had discovered the photo albums, her dad carried one with him most days. She sat next to him.

  The page was open to a photo of her as a smiling teen, holding a blue ribbon from the county fair above her prize-winning pie. “Oh, Daddy, I remember that.”

  He turned the page. Photos of her and her mother, working in the garden. Her dad, standing next to a prize steer. Their life, frozen in sepia moments. He turned another page. Her heart stumbled as an eight-by-ten photo slapped her. A much younger Charla, in wedding white. A leaner, less careworn cowboy, his arm around her, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

  Her finger traced the edge of the picture. “God, we were so young.”

  “Charla?”

  She glanced over. Her father looked tired. The lines on his face deepened to furrows as he gazed down at the album.

  “When is JB coming home?”

  She put a hand over his, on the table. “He’s not, Daddy.”

  The weight of being a caregiver to her parent settled over her. She so missed leaning on his strength and wisdom.

  “How much longer are you going to make JB pay, Charla Rae? You know the accident wasn’t his fault.” Sharp blue eyes studied her.

  She jerked her head up. “I never blamed him for that, Daddy.” At least, she didn’t think she did.

  “Then why isn’t he here, washing up for dinner?”

  No telling what facts had fallen out of the holes in his memory at any given time. “It’s complicated.”

  He pulled his hand from under hers, putting it on top. “You know that little girl never meant squat to him, not really.”

  Another jolt shot through her. She jerked her hand from his and peered at him. “Have you been talking to Mom?”

  His focus once more on the photo album, he turned another page. “I talk to your mother all the time. She’s not real good about getting back to me though.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present.

  —Jan Glidewell

  JB came awake with a snort. Something was different. Opening his eyes, he glanced to the yard. The sun sparkled off the dew on the grass. Mockingbirds ran through their morning repertoire. He hadn’t slept until dawn in weeks.

  He threw back the covers, sat up, and took in a lungful of cool, morning-fresh air. In spite of a sore back from the cot’s torture bar, he felt pretty good. After a satisfying morning scratch, he limped to the box that held his clean clothes.

  The orderly kitchen supplied java, but not company to go with it, so, coffee cup in hand, JB stepped out the back door to find some. Wiley stood on the back porch, chortling baby in arms, a canvas and aluminum contraption at his
feet.

  “Mornin,’ hoss. Guess I don’t have to ask how you slept.”

  During his weeks of residence, JB had always been on his third cup of coffee by the time the household awoke. “Where’s Dana?”

  “She left for work a few minutes ago.” Monty, looking silly in his floppy blue sun hat, waved plump arms, appearing more than pleased with the day. Wiley looked around at his feet, then held the baby out. “Help me out here, will you?” Distracted, he plopped Monty into the crook of JB’s arm. “This can be done solo, but it’s awkward.” He bent to adjust the contraption’s nylon straps.

  Steaming mug of coffee in one hand, armload of baby in the other, JB looked down. The baby stared back. JB smiled. Monty looked worried. When his little eyebrows scrunched up and lips pursed, JB knew he had to do something. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he crossed his eyes and blew Monty a raspberry. Making up his mind, the baby’s face cleared, and he giggled.

  The baby butt fit snug in JB’s arm; the soft weight leaned against his chest. A fierce longing fired in him, taking his breath. Lowering his head, he touched his lips to the baby’s forehead. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of powder and warm baby.

  God, I miss you, Benje.

  “Oh, shit, JB, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  He looked up to Wiley’s stricken face. “It’s all good. Me ’n Monty are just getting acquainted.” Monty blew a raspberry back. JB chuckled past the tight wad in his throat. “World’s full of kids, Wiley.”

  Wiley shrugged into the metal contraption, and JB realized it was a baby carrier. When he turned his back, JB set his coffee cup on the brick edge of the house and settled the baby into the backpack. Monty grabbed a hank of his father’s hair and slapped his back with the other hand.

  “Yeah, I know, giddyup. We’re going.” Wiley shrugged the carrier higher and snapped the buckle at his waist closed. “You want to check the herd with us?”

  “A batch of smelly goats does not make a herd, partner.” JB put down regret and picked up his coffee.

  Wiley stepped off the porch. “Let’s not start up a range war this early in the morning.”

  Once they left the mowed yard, the long grass left dark blue swipes of dew below the knees of their jeans. The fresh air held only a glimmer of the savage heat that would take over in an hour or so. The baby smacked the back of Wiley’s head again, and he broke into a rocking gallop.

  “Ride ’em, Monty! Let her buck!” JB trotted to keep up, then fell back into step with the pair. “You know, Wiley, I flat don’t understand it. You’re so ugly your momma gave you a meatball necklace to get the dog to play with you.” He looked out at the rolling property, dotted with grazing goats. “Yet here you are, a spread, a wife, a baby. How’d you get so lucky?”

  Wiley chuckled. “Hey, even a blind squirrel finds an acorn every once in a while.”

  They walked in silence for a bit.

  “I didn’t cheat on her, you know.” JB watched a kid bounce around its mother, darting and butting her in play. “The marriage was over in everything but law before I fell into Jess’s bed. I know that doesn’t count for much, but—”

  “Counts enough so you and I can stay friends, I’ll tell you that.” Wiley’s nonchalant look didn’t fool JB. He was dead serious.

  “I tried everything I knew to pull Char out of it.” The bleak mood of those awful days after the funeral settled over him again, and it seemed that gravity exerted a stronger pull on his shoulders than a few moments ago. “She went away, somewhere in her head, and she wouldn’t let me follow. I tried being sweet. Tried to distract her. Tried settling into a routine. But none of it seemed to touch her.”

  JB rubbed the back of his neck. “I even booked a surprise trip for us to Hawaii. I figured that maybe, in a different place…” He remembered Char’s panic when he surprised her with the tickets. Like a cornered she-bear, her savage attack had rocked him. She got in his face, screeching that she was not leaving home, and if he tried to take her, he’d be sorry. He’d actually been frightened, seeing the glittering malice in those eyes. “That didn’t work either.

  “I knew it was over.” He looked at his friend. “Then I met Jess at an event. She was like a tropical island after nuclear winter. The attraction was like some force of nature.” He snorted. “And now here I am, turned out and too worn out for stud.”

  “All that’s past, JB. You’ve gotta focus on what comes next.” Wiley strode forward, hands in the carrier straps at his shoulders. “Once your feet are back under you, you’ll move on.”

  “Sure hope you’re right, partner.” JB put his fists to his sore back and stretched. “I’m too old for this.”

  Bella looked shaky as she pulled Pork Chop alongside Bar B. Char laughed. “Told you she could turn through the eye of a needle!”

  “I think I wet my pants.” Bella kicked out of the stirrups and slid to the ground, clutching the saddle when her knees refused to support her.

  Char laughed. “That’s how I felt the first time she and I cut cattle. Well, that’s not exactly true. Pork Chop did all the cutting. I did the flopping-around part, just like you.” She dismounted, and they walked the horses through the pasture to the gate.

  “I wanted to learn to ride, but I don’t know about this cutting business.”

  Char snorted. “Well, you sure look like a cowgirl, anyway.” Bella’s jeans were skin tight, but at least they were Wranglers, complete with iron-faded knife creases, workday boots, a counterpane white-and-blue-striped shirt, and a raffia cowboy hat. “I’d love to see your closet.”

  “Closets.” Bella led the horse through the gate Char held open.

  “What is it with you and clothes?” Char led her horse through, then fastened the gate behind them.

  Bella thought a moment before answering. “Two things. First, you can’t imagine what it’s like, being really large. If you go away for the weekend and forget your jeans or a bra, you stop at the nearest mall and buy it, right?”

  They walked side by side along the fence line, horses shuffling behind them. Char nodded.

  “Not me. They didn’t stock my size. Have a seam blowout or wardrobe malfunction? You’d better carry a needle and thread. What shopping I did was mostly through catalogs. One of the best things about losing the weight is buying clothes off the rack.

  “The second part is the real reason, though.” Bella stopped to watch the calves chase each other in the next pasture. “When I was young, I so envied the girls in the latest styles. They looked so together. I thought, if I only looked like them, I’d have it together too. As if you bought the lifestyle with the clothes.” Her smile seemed sad. “When I finally got down to a size eight in college, I bought the store. Man, did I strut that campus!”

  Char could imagine, having witnessed her exit from the Clip ’n Curl.

  “When I found out popularity wasn’t something you bought off the rack, I was pissed. The popular girls still treated me like I had two heads.” Bella’s smile turned wicked. “So I got even.”

  “I think I can guess how.”

  “I outdressed them. If tight skirts were in, I painted mine on. If heels got popular, I strapped on five-inch stilettos.” She faced Pork Chop, stuck a foot in the stirrup, and swung aboard, Char did the same. “Lately, though, I’ve been thinking about crutches.”

  “In case you fall off your stilettos?” Char reined her horse closer.

  “No, Charla Rae.” Bella threw her an eye roll. “Have you ever had an ankle sprain? I did once, a bad one. The doctor handed me crutches and told me to stay on them for four weeks.

  “Well, I stumped around on the damned things for three weeks, until one day it occurred to me: If I didn’t try to walk without them, how did I know I still needed them?

  “So I tried. Sure enough, my ankle was healed.” Bella tilted her hat to block the late-afternoon sun. “I’ve been thinking, maybe I don’t need the great clothes rebellion anymore. Then again, maybe I do. But if I don’t try, I
’ll never know.”

  They ambled along the fence line, Pork Chop reaching to snatch mouthfuls of long grass. “Crutches are great things to lean on when you’re hurting, but after that, they’re a lot of work.

  “I’ve got closets full of New York badass black and cool country clothes. Maybe it’s time to find out who I am.” She squinted at the horizon. “What I’ve been doing out here on your ranch may not be it for me, but it’s close.

  “Enough of my drama.” Bella turned to her. “I’m sorry, Char. I feel responsible for that jerk of a trainer. And the fact that JB’s back. How are you holding up?”

  Char struggled not to shift in the saddle under Bella’s canny gaze. Instead she studied the adjoining pasture where a mounted figure bunched cattle in the distance. “It takes some getting used to. I’m not giving up my outside chores, so it’s… awkward. We’re circling each other, trying to figure out how to do this.” She sighed. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Yeah, but under that. Are there any, you know, feelings?”

  “Like I said, I’m exhausted. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

  As they trotted onto the packed dirt of the barn dooryard, the sun seemed to burn through a magnifying glass. The still air smelled of heat and dust. A runnel of sweat tickled down Char’s neck as she kicked out of her stirrups and slid off her mount.

  Bella scratched Pork Chop’s head under her forelock, where she liked it. “It’s always so blasted hot in this yard.” She took off her hat and waved it at her heat-reddened face. “If I were you, I’d plant a shade tree.”

  Char’s glance flicked across the yard, as if the stump were magnetic. A strangled sound finally brought her head around.

  Bella stood, hand over her mouth, her face a study in horror. “Oh, hell, Char, I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “You didn’t know.” She shook her head and tried to smile. “That tree stood over a hundred years. Mom and Dad planned the layout of the house and barn so that the tree would shade this yard.”

  She took the reins from Bella, her gaze straying once again to the stump. “I remember lying in bed, after, hearing the sound of chopping.