by Marin Thomas
Loud music smacked Dixie upside the head when she entered the tavern. A raucous game of pool competed with the whiny sounds of a steel guitar blaring from the jukebox. An older couple, heads bent in conversation, occupied a table in the corner and two cowboys—probably local ranch hands—sat at the bar. Dixie chose a stool at the far end—she wasn’t in the mood for company—especially the cowboy kind.
“Tough day at the office?” The barkeep slapped a drink napkin on the bar.
“You could say that. Coors Light, please.” A frosty bottle appeared in front of her. “Keep a tab.”
The bartender nodded, then meandered back to the cowboys and launched a discussion of the most recent NASCAR race.
Dixie’s first swallow of beer was refreshing.
The second sip tasted like paradise.
The third made her belch. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. She’d better slow down since she was drinking on an empty stomach. She kept snacks at the store but had been too busy to eat. Come to think of it, she’d skipped lunch every day this week. She hadn’t gotten on the scale since... She assumed she’d lost more than the baby weight she’d gained before the miscarriage.
There she went again thinking about the baby. She chugged the beer. Before she’d finished the bottle, the barkeep placed another one in front of her and nodded to the cowboys a few stools away. Dixie glanced sideways and the men saluted her with their beers.
She smiled her thanks. While Dixie nursed her beer, she surrendered the fight to ban Gavin from her thoughts. Like a drug addict giving up cocaine, Dixie acknowledged the road ahead would be painful and filled with failed attempts to forget Gavin—but it was a path she had to travel if she intended to heal.
Dixie’s thoughts drifted back in time to when she and Gavin first met. There had been something intriguing and mysterious about the soldier cowboy. She knew from the get-go that she wasn’t the kind of woman men like Gavin pursued but that hadn’t stopped her from chasing him.
There. She admitted it. She was to blame for the mess she was in.
The barkeep delivered a third beer. The mellow voice of Patsy Cline singing “I Fall to Pieces” echoed from the jukebox. How long would Dixie continue to fall apart until there were no pieces of her left and she hit rock bottom?
“You’re not drunk, are you?”
The voice startled Dixie and she jumped inside her skin. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.” Johnny signaled the bartender for a beer.
“Leave me alone.”
“Feeling sorry for yourself?”
Dixie gasped but her outrage was cut off by a hiccup. Go figure her eldest brother would use meanness to bully her out of a funk.
Sheesh. Where was a woman to go to find a little peace if not a bar? “How’d you know I was here?”
“I was on my way into Yuma and spotted your truck in the lot.”
“You should have kept going. I’m not in the mood for socializing.” She guzzled the remainder of her beer and signaled for a fourth.
“How many have you had?” Johnny asked.
Not nearly enough to banish Gavin from her memory. “Bug off.”
“You haven’t strung two nice words together since you lost the baby.”
Johnny was the only brother who wasn’t afraid to say the word baby in front of her. The others avoided the subject because they feared any reference to the miscarriage would send their sister over the edge.
A lump formed in Dixie’s throat. “I never expected things to turn out like this,” she said. She had volunteered to go with Gavin to his motel room that fateful night but she honestly hadn’t planned on getting pregnant.
And you never expected to fall in love with him.
“Lots of women lose babies. Yeah, it hurts but life goes on and one day you’ll wake up and be pregnant again,” Johnny said.
Dixie snorted. “You suck at making people feel better.” She chugged her beer. “It’s not just the baby.”
Johnny leaned closer. “Then what is it, Dix?”
“Gavin.” She rested her head against Johnny’s shoulder. “I tried not to fall in love with him.” All that nonsense in the beginning when she refused to marry Gavin had been a feeble attempt to avoid admitting she was falling under his spell.
“Don’t confuse appreciation for Gavin buying you the gift shop with love.”
“I’m not.” The moment her eyes had connected with Gavin’s at the Canyon City Rodeo she’d sensed his decency and time had validated her intuition. Gavin was a great guy. She recalled the nice things he’d done for her. The sacrifices he’d made for her and the baby. He’d turned out to be more than she’d ever dreamed of...hoped for...desired.
And she’d lost him.
“There will be other babies and other men,” Johnny said.
“I know you mean well, but you’re making me feel worse.”
“You really love Gavin?”
“With all my heart.”
“Then why’d you let him walk away?”
“Because he acted like he didn’t care that I’d lost the baby.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he was sorry about the baby and then he said it was such a nice day we should take a ride. Then he talked about skiing this winter and rodeoing. He didn’t even ask me—” Dixie shook her head “—if the baby was a girl or a boy.”
“Damn.” Johnny hugged her. “That’s my fault. I warned Gavin not to mention the baby because you were depressed.”
“You’re such a dumb-ass.” Dixie punched his arm.
“Hey, don’t blame me. Any time one of us mentioned the baby you bawled your head off.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She wiped her runny nose on Johnny’s shirt. “Now that there’s no baby, there’s no reason for Gavin to be with me.”
“What if he loves you?”
“He doesn’t.” That he’d left her and Stagecoach in the dust was proof of that.
“Did you tell Gavin you love him?”
“No.”
“Did you ask him if he loved you?”
She drew in a quick breath. “Of course not.”
“Then I guess you don’t have much choice.”
Dixie squirmed out of Johnny’s hold and wiped her tears away. “What do you mean?”
“Find Gavin and tell him how you feel.”
What if she spilled her guts like a lovesick fool only to have her worst fear confirmed—Gavin’s feelings for her had been tied to the baby and without the baby, those feelings were gone? “And if he doesn’t love me?”
“Then you come home and get on with life.”
And cry. Oh, Lord, would she cry.
Johnny was right. She had to find Gavin and confess her feelings for him. Only then would she know how he truly felt about her. Dixie couldn’t live with herself if there was the tiniest chance he might love her. She slid off the stool and stumbled sideways, her head buzzing from too many beers.
Johnny steadied her. “Where’re you going?”
“To find Gavin.”
“Tomorrow’s soon enough. Right now you need a good night’s sleep.”
Johnny escorted her out of the bar, but Dixie put the brakes on in the middle of the parking lot. “I didn’t pay for my drinks.”
“I took care of the tab.” He guided her to his truck. “I’ll have Merle and Porter fetch your pickup later. They’re going barhopping tonight
in Yuma.”
“Johnny.” Dixie crawled into the front seat. “Will you come with me to find Gavin?”
“Sorry, baby girl.” Her brother hadn’t used her pet name in years. “You’ve got to do this on your own,” he said.
“What about the store?” she asked.
“Porter will watch over it. He loves talking to women.”
“He’ll probably sell out my inventory,” Dixie muttered.
As they pulled away from the bar, Johnny pointed out the windshield at a passing van with the words Pony Express written in bold letters across the doors. “That’s the new taxi service for drunk cowboys.”
“What?”
Johnny grinned. “You may need that number if Gavin doesn’t want you back.”
“You’re such a snot.”
“Hey, that’s what big brothers are for...making little sisters miserable.”
Dixie was miserable. She shifted her gaze to the starry heavens. Grandma, help me win Gavin back.
* * *
YOU THINK WE CAN LEAVE the village early today?
In the far reaches of Gavin’s subconscious he knew how this conversation would end and fought to ignore the strong pull of Nate’s voice.
My mom sent cookies for my birthday—chocolate peanut butter. I bet they’re waiting for me back at base.
Gavin struggled to open his eyes but only darkness filled his vision as if someone had placed his IBA vest over his face. The Interceptor Body Armor smelled of dust, blood, urine and sweat. He hated that stinking desert ghetto.
We got a leave coming up next month. After we visit our moms do you want to head to Texas to rodeo?
Hands and feet throbbing, Gavin opened his mouth wider but the pressure building in his chest blocked the gasps of air from reaching his lungs. His heart raced faster and faster as if the organ were held hostage on a runaway train.
Can I drive the lead Humvee back to the base? C’mon, Gavin, it’s my birthday. Let me drive it.
A loud explosion was followed by a light so bright it burned Gavin’s eyes and they watered. Red. Lots of red. Blood everywhere. Muted screams ringing in his ears. Soldiers running helter-skelter, calling out commands while Gavin stood immobile, the rubber soles of his boots melting into the hot desert sand.
The echo of Nate’s voice propelled Gavin up the line of armored vehicles to the lead Humvee where Nate’s torso lay. Gavin dropped to his knees, cradled his friend’s head in his lap and looked into his lifeless eyes.
Don’t touch him! Gavin waved off his comrades who approached to help. Gently he set Nate on the ground. Rage filled him—unlike anything he’d experienced since entering combat duty. He wanted to kill something—no, someone. A life for a life.
He stumbled fifty yards into the desert to collect Nate’s legs. He found the left leg first, then switched directions and retrieved the right leg. He returned to the Humvee and placed the legs beneath Nate’s torso where they were supposed to be. Then he turned his rage on the villagers, wielding his firearm threateningly, demanding they turn over those guilty of planting the roadside bomb.
Wait... Something wasn’t right.
The scent of honeysuckle—not blood and burned flesh—drifted up his nostrils. A fresh wind—free of dust—blew in his face. Where was Nate? Someone had moved his body and covered him with a blanket. Gavin stumbled to the body and dropped to his knees. He peeled back the edge of the covering.
“Noooo!”
Gavin woke, startled to find himself standing next to the motel bed. He touched his naked chest and the heat radiating off his body burned his palm. He grabbed his keys and bolted outside to his truck. Once he started the engine, he blasted the air conditioner at his face. In less than a minute Gavin went from sweltering to shivering. His teeth chattered and his fingernails turned blue.
He sat in his truck, mesmerized by the blinking sign above the office of the Coral Motel in El Paso, Texas. Never before had the nightmare ended with Dixie’s lifeless eyes staring up at Gavin.
God help him if he ever had the same dream again.
* * *
“YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED in the army, Tucker. The more you ride, the worse you get.” Chuckles followed the barb.
So much for the cowboy camaraderie Gavin had hoped to find on the rodeo circuit when he’d left the army. Ignoring the jeers of his competitors, he limped through the cowboy ready area of the Eldorado Arena in Eldorado, Oklahoma. He couldn’t very well deny Trevor Mandela’s accusation, mainly because it was dead-on. Gavin collected his gear and left the building.
He stood in the parking lot, staring at the sea of vehicles and livestock rigs. Where had he parked the truck? He dug his keys from his pocket and started walking, the light dusting of snow crunching beneath his boots. He pushed the panic button on the fob every few feet as he meandered through the rows. When he reached the middle of the lot a horn went off and he spotted the pickup’s flashing headlights. He hit the panic button again to disengage the alarm. Once he stowed his bag in the backseat he hopped inside the cab and revved the engine. What now?
Today was November 4—the day he and Dixie were supposed to get married. Instead, he’d gotten his butt kicked at another rodeo and now he had nowhere to go.
If a bruised backside and a breaking heart weren’t bad enough, he no longer enjoyed busting broncs. The adrenaline rush he’d come to depend on for his survival had deserted him, leaving him a hollow shell of a man—and it was all Dixie’s fault. He’d fallen in love with a woman who was better off without him.
He glanced at the rearview mirror and grimaced. His cheeks were sunken hollows in his face and the dark circles beneath his eyes made him resemble a villain not America’s hero—all because of a recurring nightmare. Since the last time he’d seen Dixie he’d resorted to sleeping in snatches, fearing if he rested too long the nightmare would hold him prisoner.
You can’t go on like this.
Lack of sleep was affecting his physical strength and his will to win. What was the point anymore?
He fished his phone from his pocket and checked for messages. None. When he’d purchased a new cell phone a while back he should have changed the number, but he hadn’t the courage to make a clean break from Dixie. Maybe he should have because Dixie’s silence convinced him that she’d moved on with her life.
If only he could find a way to do the same.
The holidays were breathing down Gavin’s neck. He doubted he could come up with a plausible excuse for not spending them with his mother. When he’d phoned to inform her of Dixie’s miscarriage and the wedding being called off, she’d insisted he drive up and spend some time with her. He’d politely declined the invitation. Sympathy from his mother would weaken his resolve to put Dixie and the baby behind him.
That’s the coward’s way out.
Running was easier than coming to terms with the past—a process he wasn’t sure he’d survive.
Don’t run. Face your demons—for Dixie.
Dixie had carved a place for herself in Gavin’s heart and he hadn’t realized until she’d lost the baby how much she’d come to mean to him. In a short time she’d become his reason for living and had taught him to find joy in the little things life offered. Dixie had given him hope that one day he might be absolved for the role he’d played in Nate’s death.
Dixie had become his everything.
Now she’s your nothing.
Go see her. Tell her you want—no need—he
r in your life.
Gavin closed his eyes and envisioned himself barreling up the dirt drive to the farm, honking the horn. Dixie would step from the house wearing a welcoming smile. The only way that scenario would come to life was if he got help. He’d used Dixie, the baby, then the impending wedding as excuses to avoid confronting the demons that had followed him home from war.
The baby wasn’t in the picture, the wedding had been called off and Dixie deserved better than sharing her life with a man and his tormented soul. The only way he could return to Stagecoach and ask Dixie to spend the rest of her life with him was if he sought professional help.
You have nothing to lose.
Nothing—save the woman who’d come to mean everything to him.
And Dixie was worth fighting for.
Chapter Fifteen
The third week in November Dixie pulled into the apartment complex and parked in a visitor’s spot. After chasing empty leads on the rodeo circuit, she was tired and grumpy and darn weary of hauling her heavy broken heart around with her. If Sylvia Tucker didn’t know her son’s whereabouts then Dixie was calling it quits and returning to Stagecoach.
An urgency she hadn’t felt before now accompanied her as she strolled along the sidewalk of the first building. When she spotted apartment 112, she took a fortifying breath and rang the bell. The door opened and a loud woof sounded in the background.
“May I help you?”
“I hope so.” Dixie flashed a weak smile. “Are you Sylvia Tucker?”
“Yes, I am. Who are you?”
“Dixie Cash, ma’am.” She paused not knowing if she should add “the girl your son got pregnant. The girl who miscarried your son’s baby. The girl who’s in love with your son and doesn’t know how she’ll live without him.”
The door opened wider and Gavin’s mother waved her inside. Dixie followed her into the kitchen. “Sit down. I was just about to make tea.”
Tea would be welcome. “Thank you, Ms.—”
“Call me Sylvia.” She smiled as she filled the teapot at the sink. “I was hoping you’d show up here.”
