by Cindi Myers
"I've known a few people who experienced that." He pulled the onion off his burger and set it aside. "But for most people I know, it comes on gradual. One day they're friends with someone, then they're a little bit better friends and the next thing you know, they're walking down the aisle. Or at least moving in together."
She picked up her burger, then set it back down again, her expression overly casual. "So...have you been in love before?"
"When I was in third grade I was absolutely sure I was going to marry Kara Stanley."
"And who was Kara Stanley?"
"Only the prettiest, sweetest, smartest girl in all of Cypress Creek Elementary School. She had blond pigtails and wore frilly pink dresses and won the spelling bee every year. All the boys wanted to marry her."
"Figures." She took a huge bite of burger and chewed furiously.
He congratulated himself on having dodged a loaded question, but he'd forgotten how tenacious Theresa could be. "Forget puppy love and school crushes," she said between bites of burger. "Have you ever really been in love?"
Why was she doing this? If he said yes, he'd been in love half a dozen times since he was sixteen, she'd think he was a fool. If he said he'd never been in love, she'd suspect he was a freak. "I've thought I was in love a few times," he said carefully. "But it never worked out."
"What happened?"
"What do you mean, what happened? Lots of things happened. Sometimes we got tired of each other. Or we ended up heading in different directions. One time I caught the woman I thought was the love of my life doing the horizontal mambo with my team roping partner." He took a long drink of Coke. "That was the beginning of my solo calf-roping career. So I guess I can't be too upset. I'm a lot better calf roper than I was a heeler or a header. And she turned into a neurotic witch."
"I guess you came out ahead on that one, though it probably didn't seem like it at the time."
"No, it wasn't any fun at the time." He studied her. She was making patterns in the ketchup with a fry, her mind obviously a million miles away. Was she thinking about a former love of her own? And why did this bother him? "It's your turn," he said. "Have you ever been in love?"
"Me?" She laughed. "No, I've managed to avoid that." Her cheeks flushed, and she wouldn't look him in the eye. That gave him some interesting, even useful information: she was a terrible liar.
"I didn't know it was something you could avoid," he said.
He continued eating, his eyes fixed on her, amused by the game of Truth or Dare they seemed to be caught in. Or rather, he was daring her to tell the truth, and she was trying to figure out how to get out of it.
After a moment, she sighed and pushed her plate away from her. "Maybe I thought I was in love once."
"Oh?"
She shifted in her chair. "I was just a kid. Nineteen. I thought I was pretty hot stuff, working weekends as a waitress in this fancy steak house. He was this good-looking executive type--big smile, expensive suits, flashing lots of money around. He asked me out and we started seeing each other pretty regular." She stirred her Coke with her straw. "I fell pretty hard, believed him when he said I was the best thing that ever happened to him."
Listening to her, watching the pain on her face, he got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wished he'd never asked the question. But he couldn't stop now. "What happened?"
She looked out the window, her expression grim. "He came into the restaurant one night with a gorgeous blonde. They actually sat at one of my tables, and he ignored me all evening while he fawned over her. And everybody who worked there knew I'd been dating the guy, so they all got to see me humiliated. Turned out she was his wife, and that was his subtle way of letting me know we were through."
He clenched his hands into fists, surprised at the anger that choked him. "What a bastard."
"It was my fault for being so trusting and naive. I mean, it's not like there weren't signs." She took a long drink of soda. "But after that I promised myself I'd be more careful."
So careful she'd apparently never let herself get too close to a man again. "Don't tell me one bad apple made you afraid to try again?" he said.
She frowned at him. "Oh, so if you lose an arm playing with hand grenades, you go out and risk the other one?"
"You didn't lose any body parts that I can see."
"That's what it felt like." She picked a piece of lettuce off her plate and popped it into her mouth. "Besides, it wasn't just him. It was other guys, too. They always wanted me to be something I wasn't. Softer, more feminine."
"You look pretty feminine to me." He let his eyes linger on the swell of cleavage at the neckline of her halter top. The way she dressed didn't leave any doubt that she was one-hundred-percent female. Not that he was complaining....
She shrugged. "Enough for a good-time girl. Not enough for a wife. At least that's the way it seems."
"Now wait a minute...." What kind of guys had she been hanging out with that she believed this load of crap?
"No, it's okay," she said. "I know I'm not like that. I like myself this way. That's all that counts."
I like you this way, too. But he didn't say it. She wasn't in the mood to be flattered or placated. He tried another tack. "You know, there are men out there who appreciate a woman who can take care of herself," he said. "Personally I've never been much for the shrinking-violet type."
"You say that now. But the first time the toilet breaks and your wife fixes it without consulting you, or you eat frozen dinners for five nights in a row because she has more important things to do than cook, you won't think it's so wonderful."
"I guess that would depend on the woman and my feelings for her."
She shook her head. "No, really, it's not even your fault. You grew up on a ranch, right? In a traditional family? Dad worked, mom cooked and kept house and looked after the kids."
"And mom worked cattle and hauled hay and did everything my dad did. And my dad managed not to starve every year when Mama went to visit her sister for a week."
"But everybody still had their traditional roles, and things ran smoothly as long as they stuck to them. When you try to put someone like me, who isn't so traditional, into the mix, things get all messed up."
"Maybe tradition is overrated. After all, tradition says I should stay on the ranch and keep doing everything my daddy and my granddaddy did. Instead I'm doing everything I can to avoid that."
"Maybe that's why we get along so well." She checked her watch and pushed her chair back. "I'd better get back to the shop. Just in case some customers do decide to show up."
They split the bill and he followed her out onto the sidewalk, his gaze caught by the sway of her hips in the tight jeans she wore. She could protest all she wanted that she wasn't traditional or feminine. Those were just words, and who gave a damn what they meant? She'd let somebody else's rules and definitions mess with her head, though he suspected that was just an excuse she'd manufactured to keep from getting hurt again. Nothing like public humiliation to make a person skittish for years to come.
They were almost back to the shop when she stopped on the sidewalk and stared at the red, white and blue For Sale sign in the front window of the Waterloo Tavern. "When did that show up?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I haven't been paying attention."
"It wasn't there yesterday, I'm sure. I'd better find out what's going on." She pulled open the heavy oak door and went inside.
The tavern had the cool, dark atmosphere of all really good bars. Faux Tiffany beer lamps cast an amber glow over the dark wood booths and the pool tables lining one wall. The smell of grilled burgers, spicy chicken wings and beer lingered in the air. Kyle followed Theresa up to the wooden bar that ran the length of the room, the brass foot rail worn smooth from decades of boots propped on it. "Hey, Debby." Theresa nodded to the waitress. "Where's Axel?"
"Hey, Axel! T from next door's here to see you."
A balding old man with a face like a bulldog emerged from the back room
. When he saw Theresa, his face split into a grin. "Come here, gorgeous, and make an old man happy," he said, holding his arms wide.
Theresa hugged him, then jerked her head toward the sign in the window. "What's with the For Sale sign?"
"What do you think it is? I'm selling this dump. You want to buy it? In which case, it isn't a dump, it's the best bar in the district."
"But why are you selling? I thought they were going to have to carry you out of here in a pine box."
He shook his head. "I just decided it's time to hang it up. My daughter's after me to move down to Houston to be closer to her and the kids. And I'm getting too old for all the shit that's been going on around here lately."
"You mean the protesters?" Kyle stepped forward and offered his hand. "I'm Kyle Cameron. A friend of Theresa's."
The old man looked him up and down and he grinned again. "You don't look like most of Theresa's friends." His gaze fixed on the silver-and-gold buckle on Kyle's belt. "That thing real?"
He glanced at the buckle. "Yeah. First place, calf roping, Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo, 1998."
Axel nodded, then turned back to Theresa. "These rightwing nuts can have the whole place for all I care," he said. "I'm gonna find a little place near my kid and spend all day watching game shows and taking naps in the recliner. You come see me sometime."
"I hate to hear that," she said. "The street won't be the same without you here."
"Ah, it'll never be the same again anyway." He nodded to the sign. "You hear of anybody wants to buy a bar, you send 'em to me." He grinned. "And don't be surprised if I send a few lookers over your way. I figure lettin' 'em know I got a good-lookin' neighbor could be a good selling point."
She laughed and punched his shoulder. "You're a dirty old man, you know that?"
"Just a man, sweetheart. A man who appreciates the finer things in life." He waggled his eyebrows and leered at her chest.
She gave him a hug before she and Kyle left. But the smile she'd worn inside faded as soon as they were on the sidewalk again. "I can't believe he's selling," she said, shaking her head at the real-estate sign. "Those damn protesters are changing everything."
Change is part of life. But that sounded too sanctimonious to his ears, and besides, she needed cheering up, not preaching to. He needed to make her laugh, make her forget her troubles for a while. He rubbed her shoulder. "I'll come by your place tonight."
She shook her head. "I don't think so. I'm in a lousy mood. I wouldn't be good company."
"I'll put you in a better mood." He smiled. "I've got a surprise."
"What is it?" She looked suspicious.
"If I tell you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?" He kissed her cheek. "But you'll like it. I promise." And with any luck, he'd like it, too.
9
THERESA WASN'T REALLY IN the mood to see Kyle that night. By the time she got home, all she wanted was to mope and eat chocolate and watch trash TV. But when she switched on the television, the local news was showing coverage of that morning's press conference on Sixth Street. Darryl "Clean" Carter was pontificating on the need to make Austin synonymous with family-friendly entertainment.
"Gag me." She switched off the TV and checked her watch, annoyed to find it was only a little after seven. Kyle had said he would be by around eight. She should have stayed at the shop longer, but with Cherry and Scott both there and business so slow, there was no need for her to hang around. Besides, watching Scott's lame attempts to impress Cherry and Cherry's just as studied efforts to ignore him was getting on her nerves. Honestly, why didn't the girl admit she was attracted to him, and why didn't he quit trying so hard?She wandered into the kitchen and stared at the refrigerator. She didn't have to open the door to visualize the contents: one almost-empty jar of peanut butter, two Red Bulls, a half-empty case of Mountain Dew, a lump of old cheese, coffee creamer, leftover Chinese takeout and two bottles of white wine. The wine was tempting, but without food to go with it, she'd end up sloshed in no time.
She turned and picked up the phone intending to order a pizza but found herself punching speed dial for Zach's number. She always felt better after she talked to him.
After four rings, the answering machine picked up. "Hello. We're not home now, but leave a mess--"
"Hold on, I've got it." A familiar female voice interrupted the recorded message. "Sorry about that. I was in the other room. Hello?"
"Jen, hi. I'm sorry. I was trying to call Zach. I must have punched the wrong speed-dial button."
"No, that's okay. You got the right number." She heard the clank of an earring against the phone as Jen switched the receiver to her other ear. "It was silly for both of us to pay rent on expensive places, so we're sharing a place now."
Theresa grinned. "You're living together?"
"Well...yes." She heard the smile in Jen's voice and pictured her probably perched on the edge of the bed twirling her long blond hair around one finger. "This way we get to see each other more and we don't waste time commuting between our apartments."
"Does your dad know yet?"
Jen sighed. "No. He'd only get upset."
The chief would be upset all right. He'd had a hard enough time letting his little girl go off to Chicago with Zach. "He's always worried about you being safe, right?" Theresa said. "Maybe you could point out to him how much safer you are with Zach there instead of being alone at night and stuff."
"Hey, that's a good idea. Thanks. I just have to work up the nerve to tell him before he and Mom come to visit. Hey, I hate to run, but I've got a rehearsal I have to get to. You want to talk to Zach?"
A few seconds later, her brother got on the line. "Hey, sis, what's up?"
She leaned back against the kitchen counter. "I just thought I'd call and see how you were doing."
"I'm doing great. The school is having this juried art show next month and one of my paintings is going to be in it."
"That's terrific. I mean, it is, isn't it? A juried show--that sounds kind of prestigious."
"It is. The professors picked the best work from each class to be in the show. Not everybody made the cut." She heard the pride in his voice, though Zach was never one to brag.
"That's great. I'm really proud of you." She switched the phone to her other ear. "Hey, speaking of paintings, Chief Truitt was in the shop today and he saw the piece you sent me. He said to tell you you still owe him a painting for his collection."
"What was he doing at the shop?" Zach's voice was wary.
She grinned. "He's thinking of getting a big eagle tattooed across his chest. Maybe with an American flag. But don't tell Jen. It's a surprise for her."
"Cute. Now what was he really doing there?"
"Oh, we had a little trouble with protesters blocking the entrance. He came down and ran them off. I guess I had him all wrong. He was actually real decent about the whole thing."
"He's not so bad once you figure him out. So the protesters are still hanging around?"
"Worse than ever. 'Clean' Carter had a big press conference near the shop this morning and the place was packed. Business is way down. I even came home early today. If it keeps up, I may have to let the new girl go."
"Just hang in there. This will blow over sooner or later."
She shook her head. "I don't know. Some folks are already packing up and calling it quits. Axel has the Waterloo Tavern for sale."
"You lie!"
"I wish I did. He says he's moving to Houston to be near his daughter."
"Then this is just an excuse to do something he wanted to do all along."
"I don't know, Zach. It's pretty depressing down here these days."
"Don't let it get you down. Just hang in there. You know you can take money out of savings to make payroll if you need to."
"I know. But I hate to do that. That's your money for school and your future."
"I'm doing okay. I've even sold a few pieces on the side. And there's a shop here where I can work evenings and weekends when I fee
l like it. Good people."
"Sounds like you're saving a little on rent these days, too."
"We wanted to be together more. With Jen's rehearsals and the performance schedule and my classes and working, it was wild. This gives us more time with each other."
"I think it's a great idea. I'm happy for you. I really am."
"What about you? Are you seeing anybody?"
She stared at the phone. Did he have some brotherly sixth sense or something? Or maybe he'd talked to Scott. "I'm going out with this guy I met at the shop. Nothing serious. We're just having fun."
"Who is he? One of the regulars? Not that biker, Joe. He always had a crush on you."
She made a face, thinking of the short, portly blonde who had a cartoon of Porky Pig tattooed on his right arm. Unfortunately the artwork only served to call attention to Joe's marked resemblance to the famous animal. "It's nobody you know. He's a cowboy. A rodeo rider. He broke his wrist and is killing time. I thought we might as well kill it together."
"A cowboy, huh? Well that's different. You take care of yourself, okay?"
"Don't I always?"
"I still worry about you down there and me up here."
The concern in his voice made a knot form in her throat. "I'll be okay," she said. "I'll let you go now. Talk to you soon."
"Sure thing."
She hung up the phone and stared at the receiver, swallowing tears. He'd sounded so good. Really happy. That made her miss him that much more.
So he and Jen were living together? About time. She figured before too much longer they'd make it official. A few more years and she could be an aunt.
She liked the sound of that. Not that she was one to go gaga over babies, but a little niece or nephew would be fun.
The doorbell rang, knocking the warm, fuzzy thoughts right out of her head. She went to answer it and found Kyle tricked out in full western regalia--hat, chaps, leather vest, even boots with spurs.
"The Fat Stock Show isn't until next February," she said.
"This is my surprise." He walked past her and she noticed he was carrying a boom box.
