Slow Waltz Across Texas

by Peggy Moreland

  “About five seconds. A little push and a twist, and it’s in.”

  Brittany skipped into the kitchen. “That lady called.”

  “What lady?” Rena asked, still trying to absorb the news that Clayton was staying a little longer.

  “The baby-sitter one.”

  Rena immediately dropped to a knee in front of her daughter, dread filling her. “What did she say? Is she on her way?”

  Brittany shook her head. “Nope. She said for me to tell you that she can’t come today.”

  “What!” Rena cried. “But she has to come! I have appointments scheduled.”

  Clayton stood off to the side, listening and tuning in to the panic in Rena’s voice and wondering what kind of appointments she had that the thought of missing them would upset her so much. “I can stay with the kids,” he offered.

  “Oh, no,” Rena said, brushing off her knees as she stood. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “They’re my kids, Rena,” he reminded her wryly. “It’s not exactly a hardship to have to stay with them for a couple of hours.”

  With the twins strapped safely into the passenger seat beside him, Clayton drove slowly down the main street of Salado, keeping one eye peeled for a glimpse of Rena’s Lincoln Navigator, still curious to know what kind of appointments she might have that would take more than half a day to complete.

  Not that he’d made the trip into town to spy on her, he assured himself. He’d made the trip to buy a new fuse.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yeah, shortcake?” he murmured, while he scanned both sides of the street.

  “Can me and Brandon have an ice-cream cone?”

  He glanced down to look at his daughter. “Ice cream?” he repeated. “You had breakfast not more than two hours ago.”

  “I know,” she said miserably, looking up at him with those huge, puppy-dog eyes of hers. “But I’m hungry, and so’s Brandon.”

  Shaking his head at his daughter’s habit of thinking and talking for her twin brother, Clayton turned his gaze back to the street. “I suppose you can, since you’re both starving, though it might take me a while to find a place that sells ice cream.”

  Brightening, Brittany sat up, straining to see over the dash. “There’s an ice cream store right across the street from Mommy’s shop,” she informed him. “We can get some there.”

  Clayton froze. “Mommy’s shop?” he repeated slowly. “What shop?”

  “The one where she works,” Brittany explained, still straining to peer over the dash. “There!” she cried, lifting a finger to point. “That’s the ice cream store.”

  Clayton followed the line of her finger, noting the location of the ice cream store, then shifted his gaze across the street, and saw Rena’s Navigator parked on the drive beside a small, frame house. A sign swinging from a post near the curb read By Design. “When did your mother open a shop?”

  “It’s not open yet,” Brittany told him, always a wealth of information. “Can we go and see her, after we get our ice cream?”

  Clayton steered his truck into a parking space in front of the ice cream store and killed the engine. “I suppose,” he said, his gaze on the side rearview mirror and the reflection of the little house across the street, stunned by the discovery that Rena had opened a business.

  Clayton wasn’t sure whether to knock on the front door of By Design, or just walk in, but was saved making the decision when Brittany twisted the door-knob and barreled inside, followed closely by her brother, both screaming, “Mommy, Mommy! We’re here!”

  Drawing in a deep breath, Clayton followed. He stopped just inside the door and glanced around, resentment and despair warring for dominance as he noted the boxes stacked around the small front room, wondering just exactly how long his wife had been planning on leaving him.

  “Hi, Clayton. What are y’all doing here?”

  He glanced up as Rena walked into the front room, flanked by the twins, who danced at her sides. Steeling himself against the resentment that was quickly winning the battle for control of his emotions, he pulled off his hat. “We were in town, picking up the fuse, and the kids wanted ice cream.” He lifted his hat to gesture toward the store across the street. “Brittany knew where to find it.”

  Laughing, Rena dropped to a knee, wrapping her arms around her children and drawing them to her sides as she pressed their cheeks against hers. “She has the nose of a bloodhound when it comes to sweets.”

  His resentment growing at the tender scene his family created, Clayton snugged his hat back down on his head. “I’ll get ’em out of your hair. I’m sure you’ve got important business to tend to.”

  Rena glanced up at him, her smile fading at the resentment she heard in his voice. “Not so busy that I don’t have time to say hello to my children.” She smiled down at the twins, gave them a tight squeeze, then lifted her gaze to Clayton’s as she rose. “Would you like a quick tour? There’s not much to see yet. But I can show you what all I’ve got planned.”

  The flush of excitement on her face sent a stab of jealousy through him, which was ridiculous, he told himself. He wasn’t jealous of her new business, but he didn’t want a tour of her shop, either. Before he could refuse her offer, though, Brittany shot across the room and grabbed his hand.

  “Come on, Daddy,” she said, tugging him along behind her. “I’ll show you the bathroom. It’s got a tub with feet.”

  Once Clayton got back to Rena’s place, he settled the twins in front of the television and wandered through the house, still feeling a bit shell-shocked over the discovery that Rena had started a business without his knowledge. He wasn’t being nosy, he told himself as he headed for the staircase. He was just curious to see what kind of condition the rest of the house was in. Keeping his steps as quiet as possible, he climbed the stairs to the second floor and peeked in the first door.

  His heart twisted a bit when he saw that the twins’ furniture and toys filled the room, arranged in much the same way as they had been in their room at the ranch. Not liking to think about that now-empty room, he turned away and continued down the hall, finding several bare rooms before opening a door and discovering Rena’s bedroom.

  The bed that dominated the large space was as big as the one they’d once shared, but the furnishings were dramatically different. Where their bedroom at the ranch had reflected more of a man’s taste, this was one did anything but. From the eyelet fabric that skirted the bed, to the downy, white comforter that was spread neatly across its top and the tumble of pastel throw pillows artfully arranged at its head, this room screamed woman.

  Resenting the differences, but unsure why, Clayton stepped into the room and walked around, noting the antique chifforobe and the lounge chair angled in front of a window, obviously placed there to catch the view of the rolling fields beyond. He stopped beside the round bedside table with its flounced cloth that hung clear to the floor and the fragile-looking, porcelain bedside lamp. Pushing a finger against the assorted knickknacks on the tabletop, he picked up a pewter frame, expecting to find a picture of the twins. He was shocked when he found instead an image of himself and Rena staring back at him.

  Surprised that she’d chosen to display a picture that included him, he sank down on the bed, staring, trying to remember when the picture had been taken. Two or three months after their marriage, he supposed, judging by the size of Rena’s already protruding stomach. Slowly he recalled more details as he examined the print more closely. There was a rodeo arena in the background—the one in Brady, Texas, if he remembered correctly. Pete Dugan had taken the shot, he recalled, insisting that Rena would need a picture of Clayton in order to remember his ugly face once the twins were born and she wouldn’t be able to travel the circuit with him any longer.

  He glanced out the window at the thought of Pete, his traveling buddy, with his off-the-wall sense of humor and mother-hen ways. Pete had fussed at Clayton more than once over the years, as had Troy when Clayton had failed to call home and c
heck on Rena and the kids as often as Pete thought he should. And though Clayton had known Pete was right, he hadn’t been able to make the calls, a fact that had infuriated Pete all the more.

  But then, Pete hadn’t known how hard it was for Clayton to make those calls, the history that kept him from exposing his heart and emotions to his wife and kids. If he had known, then maybe he’d have left Clayton alone or, at the least, quit beating Clayton up with his failings as a husband and a father.

  Sighing, Clayton looked down at the picture he held, remembering those first few months of their marriage and how good they’d been. His thoughts drifted as he stared at his wife’s radiant face, able to feel even now the warmth of the arm she’d hugged around his waist just before the picture had been snapped.

  What went wrong? he asked himself. When did everything change? They’d been so happy, so content with each other. How had they lost all that?

  He set the picture back on the table and rose, dragging a hand over his hair. When they’d first married, he was sure that he’d finally put his past behind him, had the beginnings of the family he’d always yearned for. Then the twins had come along and—

  The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts, and he glanced at it, wondering if he should answer it. It rang again, and he muttered a curse under his breath as he reached for it. “Hello?”

  Silence hummed for a couple of seconds before a woman said uncertainly, “I’m sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number.”

  Suspecting that it was hearing his voice that had made the woman draw that conclusion, Clayton asked, “Were you calling Rena?”

  “Well, yes,” the woman said in surprise.

  “She’s not here right now,” he explained. “Could I take a message?”

  “Please,” the woman said, sounding relieved. “Tell her that Mrs. Givens called, and that I won’t be able to keep the twins for her for at least another two weeks. My daughter in Houston is pregnant,” she explained, “and is having some complications. Her doctor has ordered her to bed, which means that she needs me to stay with her, so that I can take care of her two-year-old.”

  “Okay,” Clayton replied, slowly absorbing this news.

  “I hope this doesn’t put Rena in a bind,” the woman fretted. “She’s such a nice lady, and I know she was depending on me. But it just can’t be helped,” she said with a sigh. “My daughter needs me, and I simply can’t be in two places at once.”

  Clayton glanced at the doorway, thinking of the twins downstairs and Rena in town at her new shop, wondering how Rena would deal with this newest kink in her plans. “I’m sure she’ll understand,” he told the woman, wondering if fate might have just dropped in his lap the perfect excuse for him to hang around a little longer…and hopefully the time he needed to change his wife’s mind about divorcing him.

  “What!”

  “Mrs. Givens can’t start work for another two weeks,” Clayton said again. “Her daughter’s pregnant and—”

  Rena sliced an impatient hand through the air, cutting him off. “I heard what you said,” she said, then seemed to crumple, her eyes filling with tears. “What am I going to do?” she moaned, covering her face with her hands. “I’ll never be able to find another baby-sitter on such short notice.”

  “I’m sure there is someone you could get,” Clayton offered helpfully.

  She jerked her hands from her face to glare at him. “Who? It took me weeks to find Mrs. Givens! And I’ve got so much to do yet,” she said miserably, turning away from him. “The carpenter is coming tomorrow to build shelves and racks for my fabric samples.” She began to pace, worrying her thumbnail. “And the painters are coming Friday to paint. I’d take the children with me, but I know I wouldn’t get a thing done for worrying about them sticking a finger beneath a saw blade, or getting sick from smelling the paint fumes.” She stopped and dug her fingers in her hair. “And there’s so much yet to do!” she wailed.

  “I could stay and keep them,” Clayton offered quietly.

  Rena dropped her hands to stare. “Stay?” she repeated incredulously. “Here?”

  “Well, it only makes sense for me to stay at the house with y’all, since I’ll be minding the twins.”

  “But, you can’t!” Rena cried, already imagining the intimacy that would force them into. An intimacy that she was sure would drive her insane. She’d already proven to herself that she was weak where Clayton was concerned, and she knew she couldn’t bear having her heart broken again.

  “Why not? It’s a big house. I’m sure there’s an extra bedroom I could use. Or I can bunk in with the kids.”

  “But…but…”

  “But what?”

  She searched her mind, trying to think of an excuse that he would accept. “Your career!” she exclaimed on sudden inspiration. “You can’t just drop off the circuit this close to the finals.”

  He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, then turned to stir the stew he had simmering on the range for their dinner. “I can afford to miss a rodeo, or two.”

  “No,” she said, pressing her fingertips against her temples, unable to bear the thought of the pain, the frustration, that his nearness would cause her. “Clayton, you can’t stay here. It just wouldn’t work.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because…” She firmed her lips, refusing to share with him her reasons. “Just because.”

  “Well, there is one other option.”

  “What?” she demanded to know, sure that anything would be better than sharing her house with Clayton.

  “I could pack up the kids and move them back to the ranch with me for a while.”

  Rena fell back a step, the blood draining from her face. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You can’t do that. You can’t take the children away from me. I’m their mother. They need me.”

  He hit the spoon against the side of the pot, knocking off the vegetables that clung to it and making Rena jump. “Why not?” he asked, tossing the spoon to the counter as he turned to face her. “You’re taking them away from me. And they need a father just as much as they need a mother, so don’t try that particular argument again, it won’t—” He stopped, narrowing his eyes at her, and slowly brought his hands to his hips. “Now that I think about it, maybe I ought to just take them back to the ranch with me for good. I have a right, you know. They’re my kids as much as they are yours.”

  Rena stared at him, panic threatening her ability to breathe. She’d never considered that he would fight her for the children. And if he did, would a judge grant him full custody? It seemed ridiculous to even consider, what with Clayton on the road so much of the time, but she’d heard of other cases where parents had fought over custodial rights and the months, sometimes years, it took to settle the issue…and not always in the mother’s favor.

  Sickened by the thought of putting the twins through the emotional tug-of-war a fight for custody would result in, and sobered by the thought that she might not win if Clayton did fight her for them, she turned away and wrung her hands as she tried to think of a way out of the predicament she’d placed herself in.

  Realizing that he had her up against a wall, with no options other than the ones he’d offered, she turned to face him again. “I’m sorry,” she said, and forced a regretful smile. “Of course you can stay here. I’m just tired, is all. I overreacted. It’s been such a long day.”

  Though he looked as if he wanted to debate the issue with her a little longer, to her relief he dropped his hands from his hips and turned back to the stove. “Fine. I’ll bring in my gear after supper.”

  After checking on the children one last time, Rena started down the hall toward her own room at the opposite end. Noticing that a light still burned in the room she’d assigned to Clayton, she slowed her steps, unable to keep from stealing a glance into the room as she passed by. What she saw dragged her to a stop.

  Barefoot and wearing nothing but his boxers, Clayton stood in the center of the room, his back to her, shaking the
wrinkles from his bedroll. Guilt that she hadn’t been able to supply him with a proper bed to sleep in tried to worm its way inside her…but there simply wasn’t room. Lust had already filled the space.

  She’d always admired her husband’s body. Lusted for it, if she were to be truly honest. The wide shoulders, narrow hips, muscled legs. Even now as she stared at him, knowing she should turn away, she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from the sight of the muscles rippling on his back, the rounded swell of buttocks beneath the boxers, the dark hair that shadowed his legs.

  “Did you need something?” he asked.

  Unaware that he had turned his head to peer at her, she jerked her gaze to his. Her face burning in embarrassment at being caught staring, she shook her head. “No. I was just on the way to my room and I saw you—” she gestured helplessly at his bedroll “—making your bed.” Aware that her hand was shaking, she dropped it to her side and curled it into a fist. “I’m sorry that I don’t have a proper bed to offer you, or, at the very least, a sofa. I’ve ordered furniture. It just hasn’t arrived yet.”

  Clayton snorted a laugh and gave the bedroll one last shake, before whipping it out and holding it by two corners as it settled over the floor. “I’ve slept in worse conditions. At least I won’t have to listen to Troy snore.”

  At the mention of Troy, Rena momentarily forgot her embarrassment, and a wistful smile curved her lips as she took a step into the room. “How is Troy? I haven’t talked to him in ages.”

  Clayton lifted a shoulder. “Fine, I guess. Last I heard he was headed for New Mexico with Yuma.” He cupped a hand around the back of his neck and rubbed, frowning. “He’s been having a run of bad luck lately. Hasn’t picked up any winnings in several months.”

  “Oh, no,” Rena murmured sympathetically, knowing the effect a string of losses could have on a cowboy’s confidence, as well as on his bank balance. “That’s too bad.”

  “It’ll change, though,” Clayton assured her. “A streak of bad luck can only last so long.”