Lone Tree

by O'Keefe, Bobbie

  He remained immobile, face so hard and set that Lainie thought about her options. Walking away seemed to be the only one she had. What was she going to do if he didn’t allow her to exercise it?

  Then he spoke. “Friday morning is tied up,” he said flatly. “Can make it after dinner, around two.”

  Lainie had the feeling that with that short speech she’d been dismissed. He’d put her behind him. Where he’d said she belonged.

  “Two o’clock is fine,” she said, gaze still on the door. “In Miles’s office.”

  He nodded, then opened the door and entered before her. The act wasn’t so much rude as it was indifferent. She followed him in, barely registering the rich aroma of pot roast, and she resolved to tell Rosalie she’d be eating the rest of her meals in her cottage.

  *

  When Jackie Lyn opened her door and her gaze lit upon Lainie’s hair, she looked appalled, then downright insulted. “There’s brown and there’s brown, but that’s got to be the mousiest color I ever laid eyes on.”

  Lainie merely smiled; she’d expected no less from Jackie. They exchanged a hug, tight and a little long, as if neither wanted to let go, then she followed her hostess to the kitchen. It was warm and homey, with a window overlooking a flowerbox of golden marigolds, yet in her mind’s eye Lainie recalled the pretty white and green kitchen in which they’d shared so many suppers and domino games. She’d met Jackie Lyn less than three years ago, but it seemed they’d shared a lifetime of history.

  Lainie studied her hostess, then asked pointedly, “How are you?”

  Jackie leaned against the counter and answered matter-of-factly. “Still healing, getting further away from it all the time. Won’t deny it’s still hard at times, but I’m gettin’ there.” She looked at the flower box full of yellow blooms. “He was never part of me, not really, and he surely can’t have any control over me now if I don’t give it to him.”

  It seemed that a weight, one Lainie had grown so accustomed to that she wasn’t always aware of it, lifted. Lainie wondered then how to phrase the next question, but Jackie must’ve read it.

  “Willis?” Jackie asked, then followed the name with a blush.

  Lainie smiled. “Good.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, why am I—never mind, never mind.” Jackie appeared very prim and proper, clasping her hands and looking down at them. “We see each other, and I must say I never knew anyone with as much patience as that man has. He’s not pushing, but neither is he letting moss grow on him. He keeps hinting he wants something more permanent, and I keep holding back, and...”

  She looked up. “The truth is I don’t know what the future holds. I just don’t know. But I’ve got room for it now because the past is behind me.”

  Lainie hugged her, then drew back and cleared her throat. “I’ll set the table.”

  Jackie swallowed audibly, pulled in a long breath and blew it out.

  Then Jackie said, as she reached for a skillet, “You might want to know that I finally got a grill. An electric one that fits on the counter over there. Willis bought the thing for me, but I don’t use it. I still like my fry pan. He cooks on it when he comes to eat.”

  They ate hamburgers and potato chips and made small talk. Jackie’s business had built; she’d had to hire another hairstylist for two afternoons a week. Mack Jameson had given Randy some competition at last week’s rodeo, but Randy had managed to come out on top.

  When they finished their sandwiches, silence fell.

  Jackie looked at her plate, then back up. “Told myself I wasn’t going to do this, but I can’t help it.” Forcefully she crumpled her napkin and tossed it onto her plate. “I just gotta tell you, girl, that you are a confounded, stupid fool. You’re turning your back on the best chance for happiness you’ll ever have, and I just don’t see how you can’t see that.”

  “Let’s not get into it,” Lainie said quietly. “Won’t get either one of us anywhere.”

  Jackie directed a pained look at the window. “If I can’t change your dad-blasted mind, then I can’t change your dad-blasted mind.” Noisily she blew her breath out, then got to her feet and gathered plates. “Yeah, you’re the best friend I ever had, and I hate losing you. But more important, I have this powerful feeling you’re making a big mistake here, and not only because of Reed. You’ve got way too much country in you to ever be happy out there in California.”

  She put the plates in the sink with a clatter. “But you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do.” Not turning around, she added, “Can I at least talk you into sticking around long enough for me to highlight your hair? No charge. That head of yours is the neediest I ever saw.”

  Lainie laughed softly, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  Jackie’s shoulders rose in resignation, and then she turned back around. “Okay,” she whispered. “If this is it, then give me a hug and get on out of here. I don’t want to start bawlin’.”

  Lainie did as bidden, not trusting herself to speak.

  She fought the tears until the edge of town, then pulled over and gave up. This had been a tear-filled, bittersweet homecoming. Because it wasn’t one. It was instead an official end to a significant part of her life.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Lainie stood stiffly in Miles’s office, awaiting Reed’s arrival, not wanting to sit down before he got there. Because sitting at either desk would’ve placed one of them in a subordinate role, she’d arranged for a round table and two chairs to be brought in and placed in the corner near the patio doors. She stood with her hands on the back of one of the new chairs, too antsy to sit.

  Reed had made it plain where Lainie stood with him. He wanted her in his past. But he was still part of her. She was resigned to the fact he always would be, and it was taking everything she had to deal with him.

  When she heard his boots thudding in the hall, she squared her shoulders, raised her chin and tried to clear her expression. Judging by the cool onceover he gave her when he stopped in the doorway, she thought she’d succeeded.

  Today’s shirt was also unfamiliar, but this one had more life in it, soft-brown and light-gold stripes, subdued without being drab. She missed the striking colors he’d always worn—reds and blues and greens, stripes and checks and plaids. She wore no color, either, she realized with a start. She’d tucked a plain white cotton shirt inside the waist of colorless khakis. It struck her that they each appeared to be shells of who they’d once been.

  He appeared neither relaxed nor uptight; his manner was watchful, expression noncommittal. They seemed to be neither lovers nor adversaries, and that thought gave her pause. There was too much history for that to be true.

  He eyed the new furniture arrangement but didn’t comment on it. He gave her a brief nod in greeting, crossed to the table, took a chair opposite where she stood, and then she sat down also. Two copies of the contract Stuart Malcolm had prepared were before her. She pushed one across to Reed.

  “If this meets with your approval, you can see Stuart on Monday and sign it.” Her voice was as businesslike as she’d hoped. “He has the original, and my signature’s already on it. I asked him to summarize it in layman’s terms, and that top page is the gist of it.”

  Stuart had experienced difficulty with both the contract and the summary. She’d insisted that the summary be brief, and he had to do it three times before he got it short enough to suit her.

  Reed also seemed to be having difficulty with it. His eyes narrowed when he got halfway down the page, and he went back to the beginning. Then he thumbed the whole contract, skimming some pages, perusing others. Lainie waited patiently.

  He finally looked up. “Is this for real?”

  She nodded.

  “Can’t find any strings.”

  “That’s because there aren’t any.”

  He sat back. “You know what this spread is worth?”

  “You don’t think Stuart told me?” She propped her elbow on the chair’s armrest. “I came close to causing a str
oke when I told him the terms I wanted.”

  The hint of a smile appeared, as if Reed might be imagining the traumatized Stuart Malcolm. “Bet you did.”

  Then he sobered, looked down at the document and placed a hand on either side of it. “So, if I’m agreeable, you want to sell your interest to me—acreage, main house and outbuildings, equipment, stock, the works—for one dollar.” He looked up. “That about sums it up?”

  At her nod, he said, “You’re full of surprises. I could live to be a hundred and never figure you out.” He exhibited no suspicion, no disbelief, no shock. “Why?”

  “Miles should’ve left it to you in the first place. It’s in your blood, a part of you, just as it was with him. I told him that. And, for what it’s worth, I’d also told him if he left it to me I’d give it to you.”

  “So you’re still bucking him.”

  “That’s how you see it?” She tilted her head, thinking about it, then she said, “No. If all I wanted to do was buck him, I wouldn’t have come back.”

  She looked at the contract. “So is it a deal?”

  “Yes. You’re right about the ranch and me belonging together. Except I feel I belong to it, not the other way around.”

  So she’d been right last year not to try separating Reed from Lone Tree. But the realization was of little comfort.

  Slowly his mouth curved into that familiar grin. “And I would’ve paid you a lot more than a dollar for it.” Pushing his chair back, he stood and reached into the pocket of his jeans. “But if that’s what you want...” He extracted a dollar bill and placed it on the table between them.

  She laughed and shook her head. “Give it to Stuart. He’ll mail me a check.” Then, impulsively, she reached for the dollar bill. “On second thought, I will take it. I’ll frame it and hang it on my wall—a gift from the cockiest cowboy in West Texas. It’ll be my reminder of both you and Lone Tree.”

  Instantly she regretted her speech. With it, she’d added a personal note to a business meeting, and by doing so had evoked memories that were best left dormant.

  His face sobered as he continued to stand, his gaze on her, and he let the silence ride. Then he said, voice almost a whisper, “And what am I going to have to remind me of you, Lainie Sue?” As he lowered himself back into the chair, she saw no anger, hot or cold, and no distance. In that brief exchange, they’d traveled back to where they’d been before the blowup.

  Except that it wasn’t that easy. What they’d been to each other before was something that could never be again. It was like a dam of emotion had overflowed and carried away everything that was good between them.

  “I tried as hard as I could, but I can’t get past you,” he said, turning the words into a verbal caress in that way that he’d always had. His gaze was like a gentle touch as well. “I just can’t do it. You’ll always be part of me, because you’re in my blood more than the ranch is. Yeah, I want this spread. But I want you more.”

  A long moment passed in which his eyes held hers, as if as captive. Then he stretched out his right arm, placed his hand on the table between them, and offered her his open palm.

  She’d hoped that with his anger and her reticence they’d avoid this, but here it was, just as strong as ever. She looked at his hand, remembered his touch, and it took all her will power not to reach out to touch him just one last time. But by doing so, she’d be starting something, not ending it.

  Instead she clasped her hands in her lap, lowered her gaze to them and said softly, “It’s not a package deal.”

  “I had to give up last year when I couldn’t find you,” he said, ignoring her words. “But seeing you on the ranch again these past couple days, and sitting across from me right now, brings too much back to mind.” He shook his head. “No, I won’t give you up.”

  She felt curiously unable to speak or move, as if she were suspended in a layer of time with no before and no after.

  “Lainie?” He put so much of himself into her name when he said it. She knew what was in his heart. His hand was still right there. All she had to do was reach out and take it.

  “No two ways about it, Lainie Sue.” His familiar drawl told her that he’d read her again and knew just how close she was to succumbing. “Since I’m not gonna give up, you’re just gonna have to give in.”

  Oh, how she loved his voice, the teasing sureness of it. How she loved the man.

  But there was distance between them—a year, two states, a world.

  With a resolve that was as painful as it was certain, she raised her head and met his gaze. “But you need to give up.” Though her tone was quiet, it carried conviction. “We have to let it go. What we had was good, damned good. We’d both know I was lying if I said otherwise. I couldn’t talk to you last year because I loved you too much. You might’ve pulled me back here—you were the only one who could do that—and I couldn’t take that chance.”

  “I know. That’s why it was such a heartbreaker when I couldn’t find you.”

  “I had to be free of this place. And Miles. Even you, Reed.” She heard the pleading in her voice, prayed he’d understand. “I don’t belong here. I never did. You do, but I don’t. I was sorry for so much, but not sorry that I learned to love you. It’s over now, though. It really is, and you need to accept that.”

  Mutely, he shook his head.

  But she did too, just as slowly, and with as much certainty.

  As he took in her conviction, his eyes dulled.

  And then the dullness disappeared, as if it’d never been there. He was once more formidable, intent, the Reed she’d known and seldom bested. “If I thought it’d work, I’d take your keys again. If I’d known what was in your mind that last night, you’d never have gotten them back.”

  Suddenly she was back in that night, confronting him on the lonely road leading to the highway. It seemed like a lifetime ago, yet it seemed like yesterday. “I never knew for sure, but...it looked like I might’ve bruised your cheek.”

  “You did. You carry a wallop, Lainie Sue.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Physical hurt I can handle. Losing you, I can’t.”

  Lainie felt her emotional balance slipping away. She had to close this while she still had some control. So she placed her palms on the table, then stood, hoping he’d follow suit. He remained seated, just looked up at her, and her unease grew. He’d already caught on that her strength was flagging. But she was determined to resist him. Whatever he said, whatever he did, she’d stand firm because she had to.

  Then, as if he’d also read that resolve in her, he got to his feet, lowered his gaze to the chair and pushed it under the table. “When are you leaving?”

  His acceptance of her departure seemed too easy, but she didn’t question it. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” His head snapped up.

  “The stipulated three days are met. And we’re through here.” She hadn’t meant the double meaning, and wondered if he’d caught it. Needing to end the meeting in the businesslike tone in which it’d started, she extended her hand. “Goodbye, Reed.”

  He stared at her hand for a long time but didn’t take it. When he’d offered his hand a moment ago, in an entirely different meaning, she hadn’t taken it either. Then when his gaze rose to meet hers, she saw in his eyes that he hadn’t given up and she resisted a strong urge to back away. Sensing the war within him, she steeled herself.

  “No,” he said quietly. But an undercurrent of emotion got through that told her she’d read him correctly. He was saying no to extreme means—physically pulling her to him and holding on—as much as he was saying no to her. “I won’t say goodbye to you, Lainie.”

  He strode away. His boot heels clicked down the hall. She heard the front door open and close while she stared at the empty doorway. In losing him, she was losing part of herself, and it took all her will power not to run after him.

  But the two and half years since she’d first arrived
in Texas had been too full of turmoil. She had to get out of here, away from the influence of the ranch and its people, Miles and Reed both. Even in death Miles seemed to be a living, breathing entity, still exerting influence. If he hadn’t left her his estate along with that crazy stipulation, she wouldn’t be here.

  She turned and stared at the patio, but the sight of it barely registered. It was late afternoon, a long and hard day already, and she wasn’t through. It’d been tough saying goodbye to Jackie Lyn, tougher by far saying it to Reed, and this last one wasn’t going to be easy either.

  The sun bore down on her as she walked to the stables in search of Nelly. She’d forgotten how heavy the heat could be. She paused inside the entrance. Glory and Vindication were missing, and neither Irish nor Oatmeal took notice of her. She was saddened, yet relieved, at Glory’s absence. There was a limit to her strength.

  When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she spied Nelly sitting on a stool at the far end of the stables with his profile to her. His still form seemed out of character, and her heart went out to him, imagining the anguish he’d suffered at the loss of Miles. Her eyes burned; a lump lodged in her throat.

  She’d thought he was unaware of her, but then he said, “I been waitin’ for you, little missy, three days already. Now you get on in here. What you be standin’ there wonderin’ about?”

  “How to say hello.” She walked to him, picked up an empty pail, upended it and sat on it. “And how to say goodbye.”

  His eyes were tired and pale, more gray than blue. “Why you be sayin’ that? This your home.”

  She said quietly, “My home is in California.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  She wasn’t going to debate the point, but neither was she going to get up and go. She raised one foot, rested the ankle across her knee and held it there. They sat in companionable silence.

  “It’s a long time I be livin’ now,” he said, staring into space. “And I wonder at people who say they want to live long. Means losin’ people you love. Too many of ’em.”