Slow Waltz Across Texas

by Peggy Moreland

  Gathering the rope in one hand, he led the horse around the trailer and to a gate he’d noticed the day before. After leading the horse inside the fenced area, he unfastened the rope from the halter, then gave the horse a parting pat before closing the gate between them and heading for the front of the house.

  Bracing his hands low on his hips, he stared at the house long and hard and finally concluded that a couple of hours of sleep and bright morning sunshine did nothing to improve his first impression of the place.

  It was still a dump.

  Wondering why Rena would want to move the kids to a rat hole such as this one, he walked around the side of the house, examining the structure, his confusion growing when he became aware of even more repairs that needed to be made.

  As he rounded the rear corner of the house, the back door opened, and he stopped, then drew back into the house’s shadow when he saw Rena step out onto the porch, her hands wrapped around a thick mug of coffee.

  The sight of her stole his breath.

  His wife was one of those rare women who looked beautiful, made up or not…but to Clayton, she was never more beautiful than when she first woke up, a discovery he’d made the first morning he’d awakened with her beside him in bed. He knew she would never have believed him if he’d ever found the courage to share with her his secret, but there was something about seeing her with her eyelids still heavy with sleep, with the imprint of her pillow still creasing her cheek and with her hair sticking out all over the place that made him weak in the knees. Always had.

  Fearing that, if Rena had her way, this might very well be the last chance he’d ever have to see her like this, he stood quietly and looked his fill.

  The T-shirt she wore he recognized as an old one of his, hitting her about midthigh and exposing a long stretch of tanned legs. As he moved his gaze down their shapely length, he remembered her legs being one of the things he’d first noticed about her that night in Oklahoma City, when they’d first met. Dressed in a short suede skirt that showed off her legs to perfection, she’d smiled at him from across the width of a crowded dance floor. Though he had known full well that she was younger than him by a few years, and way out of his league, he hadn’t been able to resist responding to the kick in the gut he’d felt when their gazes had first met.

  Physical attraction. He’d experienced it before, but never as strongly as he had that night. One dance and he’d known by her body’s response to his that he could have her. She’d melted against him in all the right places, drawing a response that was hard for either of them to ignore. He knew he could have walked away from temptation. Probably should have. Caught in similar situations, he had before. But for some reason he’d found that he couldn’t walk away from Rena. And though their actions that night had changed his life forever, he’d never had any regrets.

  But obviously she’d had a few.

  Stifling a sigh, he let his gaze settle on her bare feet where her toes curled over the edge of the porch, then slowly moved his gaze back up, stopping at her chest when she inhaled deeply, dragging in a long breath of fresh morning air. Full and still erect, despite having nursed twins, her breasts swelled beneath the thin fabric, her nipples forming stiff, enticing peaks.

  Wanting more than his next breath to sweep her up into his arms and carry her straight to the nearest bed and make love to her as he had just before dawn the morning he’d left Tulsa, instead he set his jaw against temptation and forced his gaze back up to her profile.

  “Got any more of that stuff?”

  Startled by the sound of his voice, she whirled, then swore, when hot coffee sloshed over the side of the mug, scalding her hand. Tucking her hand behind her back, she held it there and frowned. “I thought you’d left.”

  “Gave it some thought,” he replied, crossing to the porch. “Even did, for a while. But changed my mind.” Standing on the step below her, he met her gaze for a moment, then reached around her and caught her wrist, pulling her injured hand from behind her back. Holding it open between them, he felt the thrum of her pulse beneath his fingers, the tremble of nerves, and wondered if, in spite of all her denials, he might still be able to persuade her to come home with him. Taking a chance, he lifted her hand and dipped his head over it, pressing his lips against the burn.

  He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt her pulse kick and slowly lifted his head to meet her gaze. But before he could name the emotion he saw swirling in her eyes, she dropped her chin, hiding them from him. When she lifted her face again, her brown eyes were cool, free of any emotion.

  “What do you want, Clayton?”

  Slowly he released her hand, feeling the disappointment settle over him. “Some of that coffee would be nice,” he said, nodding toward her cup.

  She hesitated, looking as if she wanted to refuse him, then turned for the door. “I’ll bring you a cup.”

  With a sigh Clayton dropped down on the stoop and took off his hat, settling it over his knee. He glanced up as the door opened again, and accepted the cup she held out to him with a grateful sigh.

  When she didn’t make a move to join him on the stoop, he patted the weathered step beside him as he sipped at his coffee. “Take some weight off,” he invited.

  She hesitated a moment longer, then finally sank down beside him, drawing her own cup between her hands. They both stared out at the field behind the house, the silence between them growing more and more awkward. Rena was the one who finally broke it.

  “Clayton?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m…I’m sorry for the things I said last night.”

  The apology took him by surprise, but he tried not to read anything into it that wasn’t there. “You needed to unload. We all do from time to time. I’d say you were past due.”

  She dropped her gaze, staring at the cup she balanced on her knees. “But there was no need for me to be so…so cruel. This isn’t all your fault. I share some of the blame.”

  Though he didn’t dare hope, Clayton couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Is there any chance that we could—”

  She shook her head before he could finish, then inhaled deeply and lifted her face to stare out at the field again. “No,” she said, blinking back tears. “It’s best this way.”

  Though he wanted to ask who she thought it was best for, Clayton feared that if he did he’d only start another argument. And he didn’t want to fight with her anymore…which only left one topic to discuss.

  The details of their divorce.

  Unable to bring himself to broach the subject, he glanced back over his shoulder to peer up at the house. “How much did you pay for this place?” he asked, hoping to buy some time with her by drawing her into conversation.

  “The price was fair.”

  Shaking his head at her defensive tone, he dropped his gaze to look at her. “And how would you know what fair was?”

  “I’m not completely helpless, Clayton,” she replied sharply.

  “Didn’t say you were,” he said, determined to keep the peace. “I merely asked how you knew the price was fair.”

  “I did a market analysis, studying recent sales.”

  Unaware that she even knew what a market analysis was, he drew his brows together as he peered at her. “How’d you know how to do that?”

  “I’ve done them before.” She lifted her shoulder in a careless shrug. “During the summers, while I was in college, I worked at Dad’s bank, in the real estate department.”

  Not having known that—another testament to how little he knew about his wife—Clayton set aside his cup and plucked his hat from his knee. Slowly he began to spin it by its brim, watching its slow movement. “Was that one of the dreams you gave up?” he asked quietly.

  “To work for my dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  She snorted a laugh, then took a sip of her coffee. “Hardly.”

  “What were they, then?”

  She turned her head slowly to look at him. “You really want to know?” />
  “I asked, didn’t I?”

  She turned away to focus on something in the distance, a soft smile curving at her lips. “One was to have my own business.”

  “That’s pretty broad. What kind of business?”

  “Interior design.”

  “Is that what you studied in college?”

  She drew back to look at him. “Design?” At his slow nod, she sputtered a laugh. “Heavens, no! My father would never have permitted me to pursue such a frivolous degree. He expected me to work for him after I graduated, which meant a major in finance.”

  “And you studied finance, just because he wanted you to?”

  “Wanted me to?” she repeated, then shook her head. “Ordered would come closer to the truth.”

  Clayton stared at her, understanding a little better about the rules she had told him about, how she’d lived her life at someone else’s direction.

  “Mommy?”

  Rena and Clayton both turned to look at the screen door where Brittany stood, sleepily rubbing her eyes. Rena set down her cup and jumped to her feet. “What, baby?” she asked in concern as she opened the door and stooped to pick up her daughter.

  “I’m hungry,” Brittany complained.

  “Want a doughnut and some juice?”

  Brittany reared back in her mother’s arms, her lips pushed out in a pout, and plucked at the neck band of Rena’s T-shirt. “No. I want eggs. And bacon.”

  “But the stove isn’t hooked up yet,” Rena reminded her as she gently smoothed her daughter’s tousled hair from her face. “Remember? How about some cereal?”

  Brittany ducked away from her mother’s touch. “Don’t like cereal,” she said peevishly.

  “Yes, you do.”

  Brittany dug a fist against her eye, her lower lip beginning to quiver. “Don’t want cereal. Want eggs.”

  “But I can’t cook eggs without a stove, Brittany,” Rena told her patiently. “You know that. So which do you want? Doughnuts? Or cereal?”

  The tears that had threatened turned into a full-scale storm. “I hate cereal,” she wailed, arching her back and pushing against her mother’s chest, in what looked to Clayton like the beginnings of a major temper tantrum. “I want eggs.”

  Seeing the frustration building on Rena’s face and realizing a way to ease to it, as well as buy him a little more time with his family, Clayton climbed the porch steps. “Is it a gas stove?”

  Rena nodded as she struggled to calm Brittany. “But the serviceman hasn’t come to connect it, yet.”

  “I’ll hook it up for you.”

  Rena glanced up at him over the top of Brittany’s head. He could see the refusal in her eyes, but before she could voice it, he reached for the screen door. “Won’t take me a minute, shortcake,” he said, and gave Brittany a comforting pat on the back. “Then your mommy can cook you those eggs.”

  Five

  Elbow-deep in dishwater, Clayton glanced over his shoulder as Rena returned to the kitchen.

  “Is Brittany happy now?”

  Wondering why he continued to linger, but reluctant to question him about it since he had been so helpful, Rena picked up a dish towel and plucked a plate from the drainer. “Yes. She and Brandon are watching cartoons.” She dried the plate and stretched on tiptoe to place it on the shelf of the cupboard in front of her.

  “I won’t fight you on the divorce,” he said quietly.

  She snapped her head around to look at him, sure that she’d misunderstood. “What did you say?”

  “I won’t fight you on the divorce. And I’ll do the filing, if you want.”

  Though she was the one who’d wanted the divorce, demanded it even, hearing Clayton’s quiet acceptance of it made it more real somehow. More final. She sank back to her heels, swallowing hard, then glanced away and plucked another plate from the drainer to dry it. “That’s not necessary,” she murmured. “I will.”

  “Whatever,” he said, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “And you don’t need to worry about me paying child support. I’ll take care of my kids.”

  Rena swallowed again, harder this time, feeling the tears rising. “I never doubted that you would.”

  Frowning slightly, he placed another stack of plates in the sink. Silence hummed around them for several nerve-burning minutes, before he spoke again.

  “When I was at the ranch,” he said in a voice so low Rena had to strain to hear him, “I noticed that you only took the furniture from the kids’ rooms and a few odds and ends around the house.” He glanced over his shoulder at the card table she was using as a temporary dining table, his frown deepening as he returned his gaze to the dishes filling the sink. “You can have anything else you want. I have no need for any of that stuff.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly, her hand shaking a little as she reached for another plate to dry.

  “In fact,” he said, angling his head to look at her, “you can have the whole damn house. You can sell this place and move back to the ranch. I can find somewhere else to live.”

  Though his offer was generous and seemingly sincere, Rena couldn’t stop the resentment it drew. The house she’d purchased was more to her than simply a place to live. It represented her independence, her need to feel in control of her life. “I don’t want the house. I told you that last night. My home is here in Salado now.”

  Sighing, he drew his hands from the dishwater, braced his forearms on the edge of the sink and dipped his head, dragging his forehead wearily across his sleeve. “I figured that’s what you would say,” he muttered.

  “Mommy!”

  Rena whirled at the panic she heard in Brandon’s voice, then tossed down the dish towel and ran for the den. Clayton followed a step behind.

  She burst into the room, her breath burning in her lungs, then stopped, when she saw that Brandon and Brittany still lay sprawled on the floor in front of the TV set, their chins propped on their fists, just as she’d left them earlier. “What’s wrong?” she cried, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

  Brandon glanced over his shoulder. “The TV went off,” he said, then turned and pointed at the dark screen. “See?”

  Having assumed by the panic she’d heard in Brandon’s voice that something dire had happened to one of the twins, she huffed a breath and marched across the room. “Don’t ever scream like that, unless there’s an emergency,” she lectured firmly. “You nearly scared the life out of me.” She stooped to pick up the remote control from the floor, then straightened, frowning. “You probably just hit the off button without realizing it,” she said, aiming the control at the television set and punching the button. Her frown deepened when nothing happened, and she punched the button again several times. “The batteries must be dead,” she muttered, and turned the control over to check them.

  “Rena?”

  She glanced up to find Clayton fiddling with the light switch by the door. “What?”

  “I don’t think it’s the batteries.” He turned to look at her, his expression grim. “The electricity’s off.”

  “Off?” she repeated dully. “But how? It was on a minute ago.”

  He shrugged. “Could be a fuse burned out, or you might have thrown a breaker. Where’s the electrical box?”

  “On the back of the house, I think.”

  Clayton headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, dropping the remote control and hurrying after him.

  “I’m going to check the box.”

  “Do you know how to do that?” she asked, unable to hide the doubt in her voice.

  He stopped suddenly, and Rena bumped against his back. Flustered she retreated a step, meeting his gaze when he frowned at her over his shoulder. “I’m not totally helpless,” he replied dryly.

  Hearing her own words tossed back at her, she tipped up her chin and brushed past him. “I didn’t say you were. I just wasn’t aware that you knew anything about electricity.”

  “Seems there’s a lot we don’t know about each
other.”

  She stopped at the back door and turned to peer at him curiously.

  He reached around her and pushed open the back door. “Amazing, isn’t it?” he said as he pressed a hand to the small of her back and nudged her through the doorway. “Married over four years, and we’re more like strangers than husband and wife.”

  Her thoughts growing pensive, Rena led the way to the electrical box, then stepped back, watching as Clayton opened the small door and peered inside.

  It was sad to think about, yet she knew what he had said was true. They were more like strangers than man and wife.

  Shaking off the melancholy that that realization drew, before it could settle over her, she rose to her toes to peer over his shoulder. “Do you see anything wrong?”

  He turned and held up an object.

  “What is it?” she asked in confusion, staring at the small device he held.

  “A fuse. A burned-out fuse, to be exact.”

  “Is that bad?” she asked worriedly, lifting her gaze to his.

  “Not so long as you have another one to replace it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, obviously I don’t, since I didn’t even know what it was. So what do I do now? Call a repairman?”

  Shaking his head, Clayton tucked the fuse into his pocket and headed back for the house. “No need to call a repairman. I can replace it.”

  She stared at his back a moment, then hurried after him. “You have a fuse in your truck?”

  “Nope.” He held the door open for her. “But I can run into town and buy one.”

  “But weren’t you planning on leaving?”

  He pressed a hand against her back to urge her through the doorway. “I can’t very well leave, knowing my kids don’t have any electricity.”

  “Mommy?”

  “In the kitchen, Brittany,” Rena called, then turned back to Clayton. “How long will it take to replace it, once you have a new fuse?”