Good Lord.
“I ran into Riley on my way here,” she says. “Wink’s home for a few days. I know she loves Wink to bits, but I’m not sure about that boy. She’ll probably marry him, but he seems…what do you think, Mace?”
“Seems like a dream come true,” I say truthfully. “Football star, scholarship to UT, funny, handsome. What’s not to like?”
“I can’t quite put my finger on it. As you say, the positives are obvious. But Riley just seems kind of off.”
I swallow down the feeling of discomfort I always get whenever Mama fixates on Riley.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Mama briefly pulls her shades down to look at me more closely.
“Fine,” I say in a short tone.
“Is this about the torn page of the legend?” she asks me in low tones. “Oh, my heart just dropped into my toes when you got that scar. I had only found Vivian’s clue the year before, and then, you brave thing, jumping in to play the heroine because your sorry excuse for a father couldn’t grow up. Just like Mr. Woodhouse in Emma. I know you always argue me that Emma’s father was different because he wasn’t a drunk or a philanderer, but I can sense the similarities. I’ve always felt a common bond between your daddy and Emma’s—they both even have ‘Wood’ in their surname. Very formal and masculine, don’t you think?”
I gesture for her to wrap up her soliloquy.
“I just felt so terrible when you got hurt.”
“Mama, I know. You’ve apologized like a million times. It’s fine.”
“Nobody knows about the link to your scar and the Darcy legend, so don’t worry about that. I knew it would ruin your reputation if it got out. As I said, secrets don’t keep in this town, so I never even told your daddy.”
I give her a look until she admits, “Okay, that part may have been for me. Your daddy would kill me if he knew I’d tampered with Vivian’s diary.”
“Well, he’ll never know, so no worries.”
I wonder how much longer it’s going to take her to finish that glass of wine.
“Baby, you really do seem ornery. Are you starting to panic?”
“I am not panicked.” I take a breath. “First of all, the legend isn’t real. Second of all, even if it were, other women in our ancestral Cowherd lineage most likely have scars, and some of those women were probably the oldest child of the jailkeeper. The fact that I have a scar doesn’t signify anything. Third of all, I personally couldn’t care less about the dumb threat to the eldest daughter. You know why? Because I think all guys suck.”
Mama takes another sip of wine and glances down at the bar. Her eyes light on the divorce papers peeking out from underneath the dish towel. Before I can grab them away, she lifts up the towel and taps the papers with her long painted nails. “How’s it going with these?”
“Mama, please take off your sunglasses.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Mama, the shades.” I sigh.
She sighs right after me, but she removes her sunglasses. Her face is all done up from her audition with heavy rouge and eye makeup, but she still looks tired and worn. Older than she should. I take pity on her and tell her about my meeting with Gigi.
“She sounds like a big nightmare if you ask me,” Mama says when I’m finished. “But what a beautiful girl. Logan dropped by the theater with her to see his mother.”
I twirl a piece of my hair with my index finger. “Yes, we all know she’s a freaking goddess. You and Daddy got yourselves a great fake couple of soul mates to tout around town and boost your profits.”
Mama glances down again at the divorce papers sitting in front of me.
“I’m worried about you, baby.”
I pick up an empty glass and try to keep it steady as I pour myself some orange juice.
“Seriously,” she says as she eyes my shaky hand. “Does this news of Logan marrying sit all right with you?”
“It sits great.” I put down the glass and cross my arms over my chest. “He and I swore we’d never marry each other, anyway.”
“Why on Heaven’s earth would you do a silly thing like that?”
I’m not sure at the moment, but I can’t tell her that. “He wasn’t supposed to marry anyone. I wasn’t either. We had a silly pact.”
Mama frowns. “Well, be that as it may, it seems like things changed on his end. And I don’t want to see you end up alone.”
“Mama, I don’t need a man. I can stand on my own. I have for a long time now.”
“I know that. But you want a man beside you, don’t you?”
“No. That’s why I’m never getting married.”
At her eyes on the papers lying between us, I snap, “Again!”
“Sometimes, I still wish Daddy and I had opened that cell door.” Mama exhales loudly.
“Oh, please.”
“Mr. Darcy is a hard act to follow. Don’t you think?”
As much as I love Pride and Prejudice, reading it to Mama all those nights Daddy was gone was exhausting. She interrupted me constantly to cry over Darcy versus Daddy and how come Daddy didn’t act more like Darcy. Blah, blah, blah. I tried explaining that Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet did not have four children together and hadn’t been divorced multiple times, but she said that was all noise and not her point at all. Then, she’d lecture me on the perils of love and men. Especially Darcy men because they are the most likely to get under your skin.
“The heat, the unrelenting Texas heat,” she’d bemoan. “It just makes it harder to hear your brain sometimes. Finding your own Mr. Darcy is challenging enough. Plus, with the Queen of Romance residing in our town, there’s an aura like a heavy cloud of invisible love dust over everything and everyone. It pervades Darcy, Macey. I’m telling you it does.”
I blink my way back into the present as Mama waves her hand in front of my face. “Where’d you go?”
“To a dark past.”
Mama slurps up her wine noisily. “Listen, I think you should join me in the theater. Get out your pain through the stage. What about Small Woman? The role has been cast already, of course, but Nancy Solderman has to miss opening night. And they’re desperate for someone who’s willing to do just one evening’s worth of acting.”
“Small Woman?”
“It’s a small role,” she says, ignoring my laughter. “But her lines are so significant. It would be such fun. We would be colleagues for a night! And you’ll still get to come to rehearsals just as if you were in the entire production.”
I could count the ways this idea is poisonous, but I don’t. Because I am feeling small right now. Too small. I look at Mama and say yes to the play.
And then, she tells me to close the bar for an hour. “I have just the person to help you out with this Logan mess. Come with me.”
I normally say no to everything my mother suggests, but I’m usually not so out of sorts. I turn the sign on the door to Closed and then lock up the empty bar and follow along behind my mother down Main Street.
Chapter Fifteen
Logan
I’m in my cottage working on my latest painting when a man with dark-rimmed glasses walks through the field adjacent to my little backyard. He’s wearing a cowboy hat, but I’d recognize a fake cowboy a county away.
He doesn’t see me inside the cottage, and I make no move to see what he wants. I’ve only got an hour before I need to go eat dinner with Gigi and my parents, and I intend to use every second I can for myself. I’ve been in a bad mood all day, and I know the reason why.
After Blake and I finished fishing, my mom pulled me aside as soon as I got home.
“I think you should give Gigi this.” She handed me the pearl necklace her mama had given her on her wedding day.
I’d heard the story a hundred times throughout my life. And my mom always said that whichever son married first would be the one to be able to pass this necklace down to his wife.
I never thought much about it, because I never planned to marry.
<
br /> But that was before. The moment Mama put the pearls into my hand, an image of Macey wearing the necklace popped unbidden into my head.
She was my wife. Even if we were drunk off our asses and decided to divorce, she was still my wife. She still is my wife.
I pushed away the thought and went to bed, but it was there when I got up this morning. Giving Gigi my mother’s necklace that means so much to her feels wrong on many levels. But the fact that I’m imagining giving it to someone else makes it worse.
As soon as I finished my ranch work for the day, I made up an excuse to Gigi and headed for the cottage. I’ve been here ever since, trying to paint my way out of my shitty mood.
I take a close look at the two people standing on the riverbank on the easel in front of me. This painting is going to be my birthday gift to Macey this year. And ever since I got back to town with a fake fiancée, it’s also been my salvation. I’ve poured everything I’ve felt and can’t say to Macey into this canvas.
I’ll come back here tonight after everyone’s asleep and paint some more. Right now, I need to burn off some steam.
I throw a protective towel over the easel and wash off my paintbrushes.
By the time I make it across the ranch and into the rodeo pen, I’m sweating from the stifling heat. The sun is big and bright and the cloudless sky leaves no room for shade.
The ranch hand working the back field comes over and helps me wrangle Prince into the chute. I climb over the fence rail and carefully seat myself on his back, wrapping my fingers tightly around the rigging handle.
From my perch on Prince, I look out over the gate. The man with glasses and cowboy hat is walking toward the rodeo pen. He stops outside the fence and looks in my direction.
Who the hell is this guy?
“You ready, Logan?” the ranch hand asks me.
I give him a nod, and he releases the gate.
Prince is in a dark mood today, and it matches the way I’m feeling. Slightly reckless, a little unhinged, and a lot pissed off.
That’s not always a good combination for bronc riding. I manage to hold on for longer than I probably deserved considering where my head’s at, and my fall isn’t too rough. I land on my ass in the soft dirt section of the ring, and the ranch hand collects Prince and leads him away.
As I stand up and dust myself off, I hear—
“Mr. Wild?”
I do a slow turn around and face the man by the fence. As I exit the ring and walk toward him, he stands up straight and gives me a friendly nod.
“I’m Skipper Scott, reporter for the Darcy Gazette and Dallas Sun.” He extends his hand to me. “I hear this town thinks you’re the hero to save Jane Austen’s ghost.”
I shake his hand briefly. “I’m not a hero. And you weren’t invited here.”
He steps back a couple of paces. “Your ex-wife, Ms. Macey Henwood, told me where to find you.”
He smiles at me innocently as he looks at me, but I know he’s trying to bait me. And he picked the wrong cowboy.
“Yes, this is where to find me. But I don’t want to be found.” I start walking toward the front fields. “I’ll escort you back to Main Street. You’ll find plenty of Darcy residents to interview in town.”
He doubles his pace to keep up with my long stride. I don’t look over at him once.
“I’m not your typical reporter, Mr. Wild. You know why?”
Something about the way he says it gets my blood boiling. Still, I keep walking in silence.
“I look for the details no one else thinks are important. Little things like body language. You, for example, don’t seem like a man happily in the middle of a whirlwind romance. And your ex-wife didn’t mask her obvious bias that you and your fiancé aren’t the soul mates of Darcy.”
I stop on a dime and stare at him. “What do you want, Mr. Scott?”
“Call me Skip.” The cunning look in his eyes disappears and is replaced by friendliness. “I think you and I will be seeing a lot of each other this summer. It’s good to meet you.”
He waves goodbye and heads for the road ahead.
I run my hand down my face. The last thing I need is an out-of-town reporter poking his nose into my business. But he clearly isn’t going anywhere. Which means I need to be extra careful and not give him anything he can use to screw up my false engagement. Protecting Macey comes first. When this is all over, I can explain everything to her. I just have to make sure things go according to plan.
Chapter Sixteen
Macey
I follow Mama through town for several blocks until she comes to a stop at the corner of Main and Holtz. I glance at the sign posted on the stand-alone craftsman-style house before us.
Liza Spellman PhD, Clinical Psychologist, Intuitive, and Medium—How to Live in Darcy without Losing your Mind (or worse).
“Mama, seriously?”
Mama knocks on the door, saying over her shoulder, “You need to talk to someone. And if you won’t talk to me, then maybe Liza can help. She’s been my go-to for years.”
“That explains a lot.”
Mama sighs. “Macey, she’s got her doctorate, and she’s very intelligent. Just because she believes in ghosts doesn’t make her stupid.”
I tap my right foot over and over until a woman with enormous purple-framed spectacles opens the door and peeks out at us.
“Liza.” Mama curtsies and then gestures to me. “Meet my eldest daughter, Macey Henwood. She needs help.”
Mama waves good-bye as Liza invites me inside.
As much as I don’t want my mother around for this, I’m more than a little apprehensive when I step inside the dim hallway. Liza leads me into the front sitting room and instructs me to sit down on her long, lavender couch. She sits down at her desk a few feet away.
“I didn’t come here for a therapy session,” I say.
“Why did you come here?”
“Besides the fact that my mother made me?” I laugh. “I need help with a ghost.”
She nods and comes to sit in a cushioned chair next to the couch. “So what’s the trouble, dear? Too long at The Cowherd Whiskey? The ghosts getting to you?”
“Ghosts?” I try to stand up, but Liza gently presses on my shoulder until I relax back on the comfy pillows. “As in plural? Because I think my life is being destroyed by one ghost.”
“The spirit of Ms. Jane Austen.” Liza’s voice is hushed. “Ah, yes. She’s a powerful one.”
I put my hands over my eyes. ““Whether or not that’s true, the ghost is only an issue because of a man and how he’s being propped up into a goddamn hero by this fantasy-obsessed town we live in. I thought I was doing well with all the changes going on this summer. But it’s starting to feel like one too many weddings.”
“And you’re involved in all of them?”
I can hear her shuffling a deck of cards, and I take my hands away from my face and look over. Three cards lie face up on a side table, and Liza’s shaking her head as she looks at them.
“The spirits are telling me that there’s one marriage in particular you need to bow out of, my dear. I think you know which one.”
“But why should I bow out of Logan and Gigi’s wedding?” I ask her in frustration. “Gigi asked for my help with an engagement gift, and I said yes. I didn’t want to say yes, but I don’t know exactly why that is. I mean...”
“That’s not the marriage I’m talking about,” Liza says. “I’m talking about your own.”
My cheeks flush with heat. “Look, Logan’s eyes are dull now. Ever since he came back from that dumb trip. And, I don’t know, I feel like maybe by not signing the papers…”
“You can save him from doing something he’ll regret?”
Doesn’t sound so smart when I hear the words out loud.
“Honey.” Liza holds the third card up for me to see. “By not signing those papers, you’re delaying the inevitable and sitting in Purgatory. You’re stuck playing that unenviable game of ‘I don’t want him, bu
t I don’t want anyone else to have him either.’ No?”
I sit up straight and nod. “Right. I know. I’ll do it today.”
As I’m walking out the door, I throw over my shoulder, “But dull eyes don’t look good on Logan. I’m just saying.”
Chapter Seventeen
“I’ve thought about it, and I’ve decided I’m being too harsh. Maybe dull eyes are a good thing,” I say to Ginny the next day.
We’re walking along the old railroad tracks into town, and we’ve spent the better part of the walk discussing the signed divorce papers I have in my purse. The moment I signed them, I knew I needed to get rid of them.
When I couldn’t reach Logan on his cell, I called Wild Ranch, and his mother told me he and Reid were both bringing their trucks to the auto shop in town for tune-ups later today. Not wanting to wait another second, I called Ginny. After we stopped by the bridal salon to look at bridesmaid dress alternatives, she offered to escort me to the auto shop.
“But how can having dull eyes be a good thing?” Ginny says.
I’m not sure, so I don’t answer her.
“Have you considered telling Logan what you had been considering before you heard about his engagement? You know, how you wanted to try dating…” Ginny stops talking, but I dive in with a firm denial anyway.
“Of course not! That horse has ridden into the sunset. I’m not going to bring it up. It will just make things uncomfortable for Logan, and I wouldn’t do that to him.” I kick at the rocks in the dusty dirt path just as we pass the fishing hole off the edge of the creek.
Logan’s fishing hole. He’s not here now. But I feel like I can see him anyway—pole in hand, baseball cap on backwards, blue jeans fitting his ass perfectly like they always do.
“He and Dave were fishing all morning,” Ginny says like she’s reading my mind. “I don’t know where Gigi was. You’d think he’d be spending all his time with her. She doesn’t know anybody in town.”
“Logan always fishes when he has something on his mind that he doesn’t want to process.” I turn back and retrace my steps on the railroad tracks. “Let’s head out onto Main through the empty lot up ahead.”
Warrior Girl: A Cowboy Romance (Wild Men Texas Book 2) Page 7
