Slow Waltz Across Texas

by Peggy Moreland

  She stilled immediately, her face going pale. “Mother,” she whispered. “What did she say to you?”

  He dropped his hands and twisted back around, bracing his forearms on his thighs again and scowling at the pool’s shimmering surface. “Nothing.”

  She grabbed his elbow and tugged, but only succeeded in drawing herself to the edge of her chair, not turning him back to face her as she’d wanted. “Clayton!” she cried in frustration. “What did she say to you?”

  He thinned his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing that she hasn’t said before.” He gave his arm a jerk, pulling his elbow from her grasp. “I want to see my kids. When will they be back?”

  “Soon,” she murmured, staring at his stiff spine. “Dad wanted to take them to the office so he could show them off.”

  Clayton stood abruptly and crossed to the edge of the pool, bending to scoop his hat from the tile surface. With his back to her, he settled it over his head and ran his index finger along the edge of the brim in front, snugging it down low over his forehead. “I’m staying at the Wayfarer Inn on Interstate 40. Call me when they get back.”

  Rena watched him stride angrily back up the flagstone path toward the house. When he reached the patio, he hesitated a moment, then spun to the left and headed for the side yard and the gate that led to the driveway, obviously anxious to avoid another confrontation with her mother.

  Two

  Rena stood before the kitchen window, her arms hugged beneath her breasts, staring out at the pool and the lounge chair where Clayton had sat only moments ago. Though her skin still held the warmth of the sun, she rubbed her hands slowly up and down her arms, trying to ease the chill that penetrated to the bone. She could still see the hard set of Clayton’s jaw, the stiffness of his spine, and knew that whatever her mother had said to him had hurt him deeply.

  But that was nothing new, she thought wearily. Her mother had always delighted in making Clayton feel inferior—though Rena sometimes wondered who her mother hurt more with her biting comments…Clayton or Rena?

  Nothing but a shiftless cowboy.

  Married out of your class.

  A man with his intellect and upbringing couldn’t possibly understand the needs and expectations of a woman with your background and breeding.

  Rena had heard her mother’s opinions of her marriage spouted throughout the four-plus years of her marriage to Clayton, but never delivered more smugly than when Rena had arrived in Tulsa with her children in tow and informed her parents that she had left Clayton.

  No, her mother had never approved of Clayton, and Rena was sure that Gloria Palmer would feel no compunction at all in letting her son-in-law know exactly how she felt about him. Especially now, when she knew of Rena’s plans to divorce him.

  “Oh, there you are, dear.”

  Rena glanced over her shoulder as her mother swept into the kitchen, her expression a picture of innocence. “I didn’t realize that I was lost,” she said, trying, but failing, to keep from her voice the resentment her mother’s appearance drew.

  “And what has put you in such a foul mood?” her mother asked. “Or should I ask who?” she amended pointedly.

  “What did you say to Clayton, Mother?”

  “Say?” her mother repeated innocently. “Why nothing out of the ordinary.”

  No, Rena thought bitterly, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for her mother to say something unkind to Clayton. But she knew that discussing it further would be a waste of her time. “Why were you looking for me?” she asked instead.

  “To tell you that I made a few appointments for you.” Her mother frowned as she took in Rena’s current dress…or lack thereof. “But you’ll need to hurry and change out of your swimsuit and into something more appropriate in order to make them on time.”

  “What appointments?”

  “At the day spa,” her mother replied, looking pleased with herself. “I thought you might enjoy an afternoon of pampering. Manicure, pedicure, a massage. And darling Jon Mark agreed to work you in for a shampoo and style, as well.”

  Rena drew in a deep breath, fighting for patience. Forty-eight hours in her parents’ home and her mother was already trying to take control of her life again. “Thanks, Mother,” she said as she brushed past her, “but I already have plans for the afternoon.”

  Gloria spun to stare after her. “But the appointments have already been made! I simply can’t cancel now. Not after Cecille went to such trouble to rearrange everyone’s schedule, in order to work you in.”

  Rena stopped and slowly turned. “I’m sorry that Cecille will be inconvenienced. But, as I said, I have plans.”

  Gloria planted her hands on her hips. “And what plans could you have possibly made that are so important that they can’t be changed?”

  “I’m taking the twins to see Clayton this afternoon.”

  Her mother stared at her a moment, then waved away Rena’s plans as if unimportant. “Well, if that’s all that’s keeping you from enjoying a day at the spa, then there’s no problem. I can take the children to see Clayton.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I—”

  Her mother held up a hand. “I refuse to listen to another word. You’re going to the spa.” When Rena opened her mouth to argue further, her mother caught her hands in hers and squeezed, her expression turning solicitous. “Please, darling,” she begged softly. “Let me do this for you. You’ve been under such a tremendous strain. An afternoon at the spa will do you a world of good. You’ll see. Please say you’ll go.”

  Rena felt herself weakening.

  “Please?” her mother coaxed. “If not for yourself, then do it for me.”

  Knowing how fruitless it was to argue with her mother, Rena sagged in defeat. “Oh, all right. If you’re sure you don’t mind taking the children to see Clayton.”

  “Of course I don’t mind, darling!” Gloria slipped an arm around Rena’s waist and hugged her against her side. “And I don’t want you worrying about a thing while you’re at the spa,” she lectured as she guided Rena to the rear staircase. “You just concentrate on enjoying yourself. No one deserves an afternoon of pampering more than you. Stuck out on that godforsaken ranch all alone with two young, active children.” She made a tsking sound with her tongue. “I wonder how you stood it as long as you did.”

  After spending four hours at the day spa being pampered, polished and fawned over, Rena returned to her parents’ home feeling relaxed and renewed. Maybe Mother was right, she reflected grudgingly as she entered the side door that opened from the portico into the kitchen. An afternoon of pampering might have been exactly what she needed to put her in a better frame of mind.

  As she stepped into the kitchen, Brittany turned from the breakfast bar, wearing a milk mustache. “Mommy!” she squealed, and flung her arms wide, inviting a hug.

  “Hi, sweethearts,” Rena said, catching both her children in an exuberant hug.

  “Mrs. Carson made us cookies,” Brandon said, his expression serious as always as he held up one, minus a bite, as proof.

  Rena smiled fondly at the housekeeper who stood on the opposite side of the bar. “Spoiling them, I see.”

  Tipping up her nose, Mrs. Carson folded her hands primly at her waist. “No more than I did you, when you still lived at home.”

  Laughing because she knew what the housekeeper said was true, Rena plucked a chocolate chip cookie from the plate and took a bite before glancing down at the twins. “So what all did you two do this afternoon?”

  “Went shopping with Nonnie.”

  Rena’s smile slowly melted as she stared at Brittany. “Shopping? But didn’t Nonnie take you to see Daddy?”

  “Uh-uh. She took us to the mall. I got a new dress and a necklace, and Brandon got a watch.”

  “See?” Brandon said proudly, waving his arm in front of his mother’s face.

  Rena caught his wrist and pushed his arm back in order to admire the new watch. “Yes, I see,” she said, forcing a smile for
her son’s sake.

  She glanced over at Mrs. Carson. “And where is Mother?” she asked pointedly.

  Avoiding Rena’s gaze, the housekeeper set the plate of cookies on the counter in front of the twins and turned away. “Getting dressed for dinner,” she said, then cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder and added, “She’s invited a guest.”

  “Who?” Rena asked, praying that her mother had fulfilled her promise by inviting Clayton to dinner.

  “Uncle Bill,” Brittany supplied helpfully. “He’s nice. When we were at Pawpaw’s bank, he let me and Brandon play with his computer.”

  Furious with her mother for not taking the children to see Clayton as she’d assured Rena she would, Rena reached for the phone. “Set another plate, Mrs. Carson. We’ll be having another guest for dinner.”

  The call Clayton had waited on all afternoon finally came while he was at the boarding facility, feeding and exercising his horse. But the message Rena had left for him with the hotel’s switchboard operator, inviting him to join the Palmers for dinner, wasn’t the one he’d expected, nor was it how he’d have chosen to spend his evening, if he’d been given a choice.

  But he would have dinner at his in-laws’ house, he told himself as he settled his hat over his head, if that’s what it took to get to see his wife and kids.

  Yet, even knowing he had an evening with his family to look forward to, Clayton still found himself stopping at the foot of the circular drive that curved in front of his in-laws’ home and looking up at the stately mansion, feeling all the old inadequacies stealing over him.

  Rena’s childhood home had always intimidated him, as did her parents. The house screamed money and permanence, two things that had been conspicuously missing from his own life, until a few short years ago. And though he was sure his current net worth didn’t come close to matching that of his wife’s parents, he’d come a long way in closing the gap that had once separated them.

  He’d worked hard at rodeoing and had made quite a name for himself, winning four World Champion Calf Roper buckles, and missing out on two other buckles by fractions of a second. With success had come commercial offers for endorsements, though he still couldn’t get used to seeing his face plastered on billboards and staring back at him from glossy magazine ads.

  And he’d thought he had created a sense of permanency, as well. The fifteen-hundred-acre ranch near Austin, Texas, was home to him…or at least it had been, before Rena had packed up the kids and left. Now the very thought of returning there alone made his stomach knot in dread.

  He wouldn’t go home alone, he told himself, and forced himself to take that first step up the drive. Rena, Brittany and Brandon would be going home with him. He wouldn’t allow himself to even consider any other possibility.

  Frowning, he punched the doorbell, then stepped back, listening to the muffled Westminster chime echo through the house’s expansive interior. From the opposite side of the door, he heard the impatient click of high heels on the marble entry and knew who would greet him at the door. Tensing, he braced himself for the confrontation as the door opened.

  “Good evening, Clayton.” Mrs. Palmer offered him a stiff smile as she opened the door wider, inviting him in. “Everyone’s in the solarium, enjoying the sunset. Why don’t you join them while I check on dinner?”

  Solarium? The word sounded as pompous and un-inviting to Clayton as the woman who’d uttered it. Left to find his way to the room alone, he pulled off his hat with a sigh of resignation and tossed it onto the heavily carved marble table centered beneath the entry hall’s dome-shaped ceiling, wishing he were most anywhere but there.

  But then he heard the irresistible trill of Brittany’s excited chatter, and he headed for the solarium. He caught sight of his daughter immediately, leaning over the side of the fountain, her stomach pressed flat against the smooth stone. Her arm was stretched out as far as she could reach, as she tossed pennies toward the base of the mermaid who rose from the fountain as if breaking through the ocean’s surface.

  “Whoa, shortcake,” he said, and caught her by the hem of her dress, saving her from pitching face first into the fountain’s pool. “You’re supposed to toss the pennies, not personally deliver them.”

  Laughing, Brittany spun around and made a wild leap from the side of the fountain and straight into her daddy’s arms, taking him by surprise.

  “Daddy!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and clinging. “You came!”

  Stunned by the unexpected exuberance in her welcome, Clayton had to swallow back emotion at the feel of the little arms wound tightly around his neck. “Course, I did, shortcake.” He gave her an awkward hug, then shifted her to his hip. “I was invited, wasn’t I?”

  Brittany put a hand at the side of her mouth and leaned to whisper in his ear, “Yeah, but Nonnie said you wouldn’t come.”

  Clayton turned to frown at the doorway just as his mother-in-law entered the solarium. “She did, did she?” he muttered, his frown deepening.

  “Yeah. She said you didn’t have the graces to eat with us, but I told her you did.”

  Clayton cocked his head to peer at his daughter in confusion. “Graces?” he repeated, frowning. Then slowly he realized what his mother-in-law must have said. “You mean social graces, don’t you, shortcake?” he asked wryly.

  “Yeah,” she said, bobbing her head. “Social graces. Nonnie said you didn’t have any, but you do, don’t you, Daddy?”

  Though he was tempted to leave right then and there, Clayton knew he wouldn’t. Not and let his in-laws think they could run him off that easily. “Do you know what social graces are?” he asked her.

  She pushed her lips out into a pout. “No. I asked Mommy, but she just kept yellin’ at Nonnie and wouldn’t answer me.”

  Clayton’s eyebrows shot up. “Your mother was yelling at Nonnie?”

  Brittany nodded her head again, making her pigtails bob. “Uh-huh.” Scrunching her nose up impishly, she placed a hand at the side of her mouth again and leaned close. “And Mommy said a no-no word, too,” she whispered, then clapped her fingers over her mouth to smother a giggle.

  Though he would love nothing better than to ask his daughter why her mother was yelling at Nonnie, Clayton knew that wouldn’t be right. Instead, he glanced around, looking for Rena. “Where is your mother?” he asked.

  Brittany lifted a hand, pointing. “Over there.”

  At that moment Clayton saw his wife, stepping around a tall potted palm, smiling at something a man following her was saying. She froze when her gaze met Clayton’s, and he would swear it was guilt he saw in her eyes before she looked away.

  The jealous rage that swelled inside him was wild and dark, and tore through him like a wild bronc trying to bust his way out of a chute.

  “Daddy,” Brittany complained, wriggling in his arms. “You’re hurtin’ me.”

  Clayton immediately loosened his grip, unaware that, in his rage, he’d tightened his arms around her. “Sorry, shortcake,” he murmured, unable to take his eyes off his wife. “Who’s the man with Mommy?” he asked with a jerk of his chin in the direction of the two.

  Brittany twisted around in his arms and looked. “Uncle Bill. He’s nice,” she said, turning to smile at Clayton. “He works at Pawpaw’s bank.”

  A man from Pawpaw’s bank, huh? So that’s the plan, Clayton thought bitterly, as the pieces of the puzzle slowly clicked into place. Seemed Rena’s parents were already busy picking out his replacement.

  “Did I hear correctly?” Bill asked, smiling—or was that leering?—at Clayton over a glass of Bordeaux from the opposite side of the table. “You rope calves for a living?”

  Clayton ground his teeth, but managed a civil tone when he replied, “Yeah, you heard correctly.”

  “And you get paid to do this?”

  “When I win. But rodeoing isn’t my sole source of income.”

  “Really?” Bill braced his elbows on the table and lazily swirled his wine around the bowl o
f the crystal goblet he held between hands that looked as pampered as any lady’s. “And what other businesses are you involved in?”

  “I endorse a line of Western wear and a line of roping supplies, plus we run around two hundred head of cattle on our ranch.” He turned to Rena and forced a tight smile. “Don’t we, dear?” he asked, emphasizing the “we” so that Bill would get the message that his wife was still very much married and off-limits.

  “Yes,” she said, and offered him a brittle smile in return. “We certainly do.”

  “Run cattle,” Bill repeated thoughtfully as he sipped at his wine. “And what exactly does a man do when he ‘runs’ cattle?”

  Clayton tried hard not to laugh. The man was more of a greenhorn than he’d first thought. “He raises them,” he replied dryly. “We have a cow-calf operation, which means we keep a herd of mama cows on the ranch, and several bulls to service them. Come fall, we’ll castrate most of the bull calves that were born last spring, then—”

  He heard a silver fork clatter against bone china and glanced over to find Mrs. Palmer staring at him, her face mottled with indignation.

  “Really, Clayton,” she chided. “I hardly think this is appropriate dinner conversation.”

  Clayton gestured with his fork across the table at Bill. “He asked.”

  Her frown of disapproval deepened before she turned it into an adoring smile as she shifted her gaze to Bill. “I’m sure Bill was just being polite by inquiring about your business interests. Bill’s quite a successful man himself, you know. Not only has he done a fine job heading up the trust department at Martin’s bank, he has also amassed a sizable fortune for himself with his own investments.”

  Bill lifted his glass in a silent toast to Rena’s father. “I had an excellent teacher.”

  “And he’s built an elegant home on Grand Lake,” Gloria added, “with the most stunning views. And he designed it himself. He’s quite talented, you know. You must see it, Rena,” she said, turning to her daughter. “Perhaps you can persuade Bill to give you a personal tour.”