Rena bugged her eyes. “You’re with Carol?”
“Yep,” he said, and she could just see him swelling his chest as he shared that bit of news. “Sure am. But I can go you one better than that.”
Unable to imagine anything more surprising than Pete and Carol being together again, she said, “Okay, I’ll bite. What?”
“Troy’s married.”
“What!”
“Yep. Got himself hitched to a pregnant, preacher’s daughter.”
“No,” she said, shocked by the news. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the God’s truth. I swear. Though he’s not the father of her baby.”
Rena dropped her forehead onto her palm. “Pete. You’re not making sense.”
“I know. Blows your mind, don’t it? But it’s the truth, I swear. He met this woman in a café while he was out on the road, and she asked him to marry her so that her baby would have a name, and all. Gave him five thousand dollars in exchange for his name.”
“She paid him to marry her?”
“Well, sorta. She gave him the money, but Troy never cashed the check. Listen, Rena. I gotta run. Carol’s gettin’ that come-hither look in her eye, and I need to take advantage while she’s in the mood.”
There was a scuffling sound, then a click, and the connection broke.
Chuckling, Rena leaned to hang up the phone, then sank back on her bed with a sigh. She was going to see Clayton in the morning. She was really going to see Clayton.
She brought her thumb to her mouth and started worrying her nail, wondering if she’d even get past the front door.
He would forgive her, she told herself confidently as she rose to start packing. Once she was able to explain why she’d asked him to leave, he would understand.
Wouldn’t he?
Rena tried the front door first, found it locked, then walked around to the rear and used her key to enter the house through the kitchen door.
“Clayton?” she called uneasily, feeling the need to warn him that she was there. When he didn’t respond, she headed down the hall that led to the master bedroom. She twisted the knob and pushed against the door…but it wouldn’t budge. Frowning, she realized that Pete hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that Clayton had barricaded himself inside.
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” she muttered, and headed for the kitchen and the back door. Once outside she walked around the side of the house and stopped before the master bedroom window. As she’d hoped, the window was still open a couple of inches, just as she’d left it.
She braced her hands beneath the sash and shoved the window up higher, then crawled through the opening, pushing her way through the closed drapes. Standing in front of the window, she looked around. The room was cloaked in darkness, every drape closed against the sunlight, and a stale, sour smell hung in the air. Wrinkling her nose against it, she glanced at the bedroom door, found a chair shoved beneath the knob and frowned as she turned her gaze to the bed.
Clayton lay sprawled on his stomach across it, naked as the day he was born. She eased closer to examine his backside and found that the familiar red spots covered him from shoulder to waist. Emitting a sympathetic moan, she leaned to place a hand at the base of his neck…and noticed the perspiration beading his skin. Surprised that he would be perspiring when the temperature in the room was rather cool, she slipped her hand to his forehead, her eyes widening as heat burned against her palm.
Dropping to a knee, she swept his hair from his forehead to study his flushed face. “Clayton?” she said nervously. “Can you hear me? Wake up, sweetheart,” she urged.
He moaned and turned his face from beneath her hand, and dropped his opposite cheek against the bed.
“Clayton, please,” she begged, feeling the panic rising. “Open your eyes and talk to me.”
When he still didn’t respond, she climbed up onto the bed and crawled over his back to kneel beside him. “Clayton!” she cried, giving his shoulder a hard shake. “Talk to me!”
She watched his eyelids slowly lift, exposing dull, sightless eyes that slowly seemed to find focus. Slower still, he lifted his face, dragging his gaze up her body until it locked with hers. He stared a long, nerve-burning minute, then dropped his head back to the mattress, slamming his eyelids shut again.
“Get out,” he growled.
Startled by the anger in his voice, Rena drew back, staring at the rigid set of his jaw. She’d known that he probably wouldn’t be happy to see her, prepared herself for that eventuality, but she’d never once considered that he would order her to leave.
She firmed her lips and glared down at him. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to take care of you, whether you like it or not.”
He flopped his head over, turning his face away from her again. “I don’t need taking care of. I can take care of myself.”
“Oh, and you’re doing a marvelous job of that,” she snapped. “When was the last time you changed the sheets?” she asked, eyeing with distaste the wrinkled and soiled bed linens.
“None of your damn business,” he muttered.
Ignoring his resentful tone, she crawled across his back again to glare down at him. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“Don’t need a doctor.”
“Yes, you do, though I know you’re too stubborn to ever admit it.”
“Get out.”
She pushed herself from the bed and grabbed the corner of the fitted sheet, ripping it from beneath the mattress. “I’m not leaving, so you might as well save your breath. Now, get up,” she ordered, “so that I can change the sheets.”
He rolled to his side to level a look on her that would have sent Satan himself running for cover. Rena merely lifted her chin. “Up,” she repeated, then turned for the bathroom. “I’ll run you a bath, and you can bathe while I change the linens.”
Scowling, Clayton slid down into the cool water, listening to the sounds of Rena bustling around in the other room. He didn’t want her there, he told himself. Wanted her as far away from him as she could get. Wanted her…
He groaned, fisting his hands at his temples to still the pounding in his head. His head had ached for days. His heart longer than that. But he didn’t want her with him. Didn’t want her taking care of him. Not when she’d already made her feelings for him more than clear.
“Does your head hurt?”
Unaware that she’d slipped into the bathroom, Clayton dropped his hands from his head and turned his face away to stare at the glass blocks that formed the window beside the tub, determined to ignore her.
He sensed more than saw her sit down on the side of the tub, and he drew his shoulder tighter against his chest, not wanting to accidentally touch her.
“How long has it been hurting?” she asked softly and smoothed her hand across his brow.
He closed his eyes against her cool, soothing touch and had to struggle to suppress the moan of pleasure her fingers drew. “Days,” he said, feeling himself weakening as she continued to stroke his brow.
“When did you break out?”
“Two days ago, best I can figure. Spots are all on my back.”
She drew her hand down his temple and along his cheek, her fingers brushing lightly beneath his eye. “Have you taken anything for the pain?”
“No.”
Her hand disappeared from his cheek, and he opened his eyes to watch her cross to the vanity opposite the marble tub and dig through a drawer until she found a bottle of aspirin. Shifting his gaze to the mirror in front of her, he stared at her reflection while she filled a glass with water, his heart squeezing in his chest as he saw the tears that filled her eyes
“I’m gonna be okay, Rena,” he said gruffly, feeling the need to reassure her. “It’ll run its course, and I’ll be good as new in no time.”
She turned back to the tub and opened her hand, sniffing as she offered him the aspirin. His gaze on hers, he took them, then downed the glass of water she passed to him. Sighing
, he set the glass aside, then caught her hand and pulled her down to the side of the tub again as he sank lower in the water.
“Where are the kids?” he asked as he rubbed a thumb along her knuckles.
She sniffed again and dragged a hand beneath her nose. “With Mrs. Givens. She’s back now. Pete and Carol offered to keep them, but I hated to impose, not knowing how long you would be sick.”
“You could have brought them.”
She snorted a laugh, then tipped back her head, heaving a sigh as she blinked back the tears. “You’d have gone crazy with them underfoot, or scared them to death with your grouchiness. I’m not sure which would have been worse.”
Frowning, he dropped his gaze to their joined hands and watched his thumb’s slow movement across her porcelain skin. “I don’t like being sick.”
“Who does?”
He deepened his frown, remembering how rude he’d been, how ungrateful. “I appreciate you coming to take care of me.” He glanced up at her to find her staring at him. “You don’t have to stay, though. I’ll be all right.”
He watched her eyes fill with tears again. “I want to stay and take care of you. I—” She caught her lower lip between her teeth, then slipped from the side of the tub to kneel beside it, drawing his hand to her cheek. “I’m sorry I made you angry when I asked you to leave. That wasn’t my intent.”
“What was it, then?” he asked gruffly, feeling the sting of her rejection all over again.
She dipped her head and drew their joined hands to her forehead, her stance almost prayerful. “I didn’t want y’all to fight anymore,” she murmured, “and that was the only way I could think to end it.” She lifted her head, her eyes filled with tears again. “I didn’t want you to leave, Clayton. Not permanently. I just wanted the fighting to stop.”
“Couldn’t you have just told your parents to leave?”
She sputtered a laugh. “Do you think Mother would have left with you still there?”
He frowned, realizing the truth in her statement.
“Clayton,” she said, squeezing his hand between hers. “I want us to try again. I want us to try to make our marriage work.”
“You mean it?” he asked, afraid to let himself hope.
“Yes,” she said, smiling through a bright sheen of tears.
“You’ll sell the place in Salado and move back here to the ranch?”
Her smile slowly faded. “Move back here?”
“This is our home,” he told her, feeling the panic nudging at his chest. The only home he’d ever had. It represented the only bit of security he’d ever known.
“Yes, but…”
“But what?” he asked, lifting his gaze to keep his eyes riveted on hers as she slowly pushed to her feet. When she dropped her gaze from his, his gut tightened, fearing he was going to lose her all over again. “We don’t have to talk about this now,” he said quickly. “There’ll be time later to work out all the details.”
She drew in a deep breath, then lifted her face and smiled, though the smile looked a little forced to Clayton. “Sure,” she said, and gave his hand another squeeze before releasing it. “Plenty of time. I’ll see if I can find something for you to eat,” she said as she turned away. “Surely Pete’s left something in the pantry.”
“Don’t count on it,” he called after her, still feeling that knot in his gut. “You know Pete. You could feed a small army with the groceries he puts away in a single day.”
Clayton lay on his side, both hands tucked beneath his cheek as he stared at his sleeping wife’s face. His headache had eased considerably, as had his weakness, thanks to Rena plying him with medicine and food. That knot of fear, though, remained in his gut, and he had a feeling it wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. Not until he and Rena finished discussing their future living arrangements.
He knew it would sound selfish, childish even, for him to insist on them living at the ranch. But the thought of giving the place up, leaving it and moving to that rundown house Rena had bought in Salado was a possibility he couldn’t even bring himself to think about. The ranch represented the only home he’d ever known, the roots he’d never had while growing up. The thought of leaving it, losing the sense of permanence it had provided him, filled him with bone-chilling fear. He was afraid he would never be able to reproduce it, would never know again that sense of security it had provided him.
Too, he had the years of work he’d put into it. The savings he’d plunked down in order to buy the place. The months on the road, chasing rodeos, in order to meet the high mortgage payments. The comfort it gave him when he was away, knowing that he had a home to return to. The satisfaction he’d felt each time he’d driven through the front gate and saw the house standing there as if waiting for him, his family tucked safely inside.
But he wondered if he could explain to Rena his feelings. Wondered whether, if he did manage to find the words, she would even understand his feeling of desperation, his need for permanence and roots.
His mind was so focused on his thoughts that he didn’t realize Rena had awakened and was staring at him, her brown eyes filled with concern, until he felt the warmth of her hand settle on his cheek.
“Is your head hurting again?” she asked softly.
He pulled a hand from beneath his cheek to cover hers. “No. Just thinkin’.”
“What about?”
“The ranch.” He smiled ruefully. “Do you remember when we bought it?”
Her lips curved into a soft smile of remembrance. “Yes. It was spring and the pastures were covered with bluebonnets. We propped the twins up in the middle of a large patch and took their picture.”
He chuckled, recalling the event. “We wanted to take their picture but we never got Brittany still long enough to snap the shot.”
She laughed and snuggled close against his chest. “She was busy picking all the flowers and trying to eat them.”
Unconscious of the movement, he dragged his other hand from beneath his cheek and shifted, drawing Rena’s head to his shoulder. “And feeding them to her brother, too,” he reminded her as he smoothed a hand down her hair. Stopping his hand at the base of her neck, he raised his head to look down at her. “Why did you cut your hair?”
She shrugged self-consciously. “A midlife crisis, I guess.”
He snorted and rested his head by hers again. “At twenty-six? Kind of early for a midlife crisis.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe it was more an act of rebellion, then.”
“And what were you rebelling against?” he asked, smiling as he smoothed a thumb along her jaw.
“My life. I wasn’t very happy at the time, and I was desperate to do something, anything, that made me feel in control.”
His smile melted as he stared down at her, knowing that he was partially responsible for her unhappiness. “You always had control, Rena. I never meant for you feel that you didn’t.”
She sighed, then tipped her face up to look at him. “I know you didn’t, but the feeling was there just the same.” She laid her cheek against his shoulder again and smoothed a hand across his chest, her gaze on her hand’s slow movement. “I never experienced independence. I know that probably sounds ridiculous to you, but I never lived on my own or made my own decisions. I always did what my parents expected and wanted me to do…other than marrying you, of course,” she added, glancing up at him over her brow.
He tightened his arm around her, and she sighed, returning to her stroking. “I slipped from living my life under my parents’ control to living my life under yours.”
“Rena,” he said, his voice holding a note warning.
“No, it’s true,” she said, not giving him an opportunity to deny her claim. “Well, sort of true,” she admitted reluctantly. “But only because I allowed it. You moved me and the twins to the ranch and went right on doing what you’d always done, while I stayed right here and filled my days taking care of them and missing you.”
Hearing her say that sh
e’d missed him touched something deep in Clayton’s soul, and he drew her head to his lips and pressed a kiss against her hair. “I missed you, too,” he murmured.
She glanced up at him. “You did?”
“Well, sure I did,” he said, frowning.
“But you never told me that you did. Not once.”
Ashamed that he hadn’t, he tucked her head beneath his chin and held her there. “I guess there were a lot of things I didn’t tell you.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “But I realize now that there were a lot of things I never told you, either.”
“Like what?”
“That I was unhappy. That I wanted you at home with us more often.”
Clayton remained silent, knowing that even if she’d made her wishes known to him, it wouldn’t have changed things. He still would have stayed away. He wondered if she would understand the fear that had kept him from home, and sighed when he realized he’d never know unless he found the guts to tell her. “I was scared to come home,” he said quietly.
She pressed a hand against his chest to push herself up and stare down at him. “Scared? Of what?”
Unsure that he could explain his feelings, and especially not with her looking at him so intently, he tugged her back down to his side. “I never had a family. Didn’t know how I was supposed to act, what I was supposed to do.” He lifted a shoulder. “It was easier to stay away than chance failing.”
“Oh, Clayton,” she murmured, wrapping her arm around him and holding him close. “You wouldn’t have failed us.”
“I not only would’ve, I did. If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have left me in the first place.”
She sat up again, bracing a hand against his chest, then dragged it to hold it over his heart. “I didn’t think you loved me. I thought you didn’t care anything for me. And I was so lonely, so miserable without you. I finally reached the point where I knew that I had to leave, that I couldn’t continue to live with things the way they were.”
“See?” he said, his voice rough with regret as he closed his hand over hers. “I did fail you, when all along I thought I was avoiding failure by staying away.”
Slow Waltz Across Texas Page 13
