Slow Waltz Across Texas

by Peggy Moreland

  Because what he said was true, Rena could think of nothing to say in return. Yet she didn’t want to waste this moment, this opportunity to build a new foundation from the secrets they’d shared, the revelations they’d uncovered. Lowering her face over his, she pressed her mouth to his. “Love me, Clayton,” she murmured against his lips. “Love me now.”

  Nine

  The next morning Rena smoothed Calamine lotion over Clayton’s back and smiled at the small groan of pleasure he made. “That feel good?” she asked.

  “Better ’n sex.”

  She laughed and slapped a hand against his bare bottom, the only place free of blisters. “I think I’ve just been insulted.”

  He rolled to his back and grinned up at her. “Not necessarily. It’s just that my memories are dim. Want to freshen them up a little?”

  Rena pursed her lips and screwed the lid back onto the bottle of lotion. “You’re sick. Remember?”

  “Not that sick,” he said, and waggled a brow.

  Laughing, Rena leaned over and dropped a kiss on his mouth, then squealed, arms flailing, when he grabbed her and pulled her down on top of him. He locked his arms around her, holding her against him, his smile slowly fading as he looked deeply into her eyes. He lifted his head from the pillow to capture her mouth with his, but dropped it back to the pillow when the phone beside the bed rang. “Why’d you plug the damn thing back in?” he complained.

  Laughing, she dropped a quick kiss on his mouth. “Because we have children,” she reminded him, “and they might need us.”

  She stretched a hand out to snag the phone from its base. “Hello?” she said, settling back over Clayton’s chest, then frowned when she heard the tears in Brittany’s voice.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked, immediately concerned.

  Clayton reached for the phone, but Rena slapped his hand away. “I know you want to see your daddy, Brittany,” she said patiently, then rolled her eyes at Clayton when Brittany began to wail. “Honey,” she said, raising her voice to make herself heard over her daughter’s crying, “listen to me. Daddy’s sick, and he doesn’t feel very good right now. I know, I know,” she said, pressing her fingertips against her temple as Brittany’s wails turned to heartbreaking sobs. “You miss your daddy. And he misses you,” she said, rubbing a hand across Clayton’s bare chest as she smiled down at him. “But you’re just going to have to be patient,” she told Brittany. “Daddy needs a little more time to get well.”

  Clayton lifted a hand to cover the mouthpiece. “Go and get ’em,” he whispered. “I’m not so sick that I don’t want to see my kids.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked doubtfully. “With them here, you won’t get a moment’s rest. Brittany will see to that,” she added pointedly.

  Clayton chuckled and dropped his hand from the phone. “Go and get ’em. We can compare spots.”

  Laughing softly, Rena angled the receiver back to her mouth. “Brittany? Brittany, honey, if you’ll quit crying for a minute, I have good news.” She waited a moment, then said, “Daddy says it’s okay for me to come and get you and Brandon. Put Mrs. Givens on the phone so that I can talk to her, okay?”

  “Drive carefully.”

  Rena smiled at Clayton as she opened the front door. “I will.”

  He watched her walk to her Navigator, feeling as if his heart was being tugged right out of his chest and being dragged along behind her. “Rena!” he called as she opened the vehicle’s door.

  She stopped and turned, still smiling as she squinted her eyes against the bright sunlight. “What?”

  “Give some thought to living at the ranch.” He watched her smile fade and could have kicked himself for even making the suggestion.

  “Why don’t you give some thought to living in Salado?” she returned, then climbed into the Navigator and shut the door. Clayton watched her drive away, one hand lifted in farewell, then with a sigh he stepped back inside the house, wondering when he’d ever learn to keep his mouth shut.

  Clayton lay on his stomach across the bed, his chin propped on his crossed wrists, thrumming his fingers against the mattress. He glanced at the clock for the fourth time in less than five minutes, then swore and reached for the phone. It rang before he had a chance to pick it up.

  Snatching the receiver from the base, he said, “Rena?”, praying it was her on the other end of the line.

  “Yes, it’s me,” she replied, sounding tired.

  “Where are you?”

  “At home. In Salado,” she added.

  His heart stuttered a beat. “Is something wrong?”

  “Several somethings. I’m not going to be able to bring the children back tonight. The hot water heater burst and flooded the upstairs. I called a plumber, but he can’t get here until tomorrow.”

  “I’m on my way,” he said, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed, prepared to do just that.

  “No. You’re too sick. There’s no need for you to drive all the way to Salado. I can handle things here. Brittany, don’t!” she cried.

  His heart jumped to his throat at the alarm in her voice and he leaped to his feet. “What’s the matter? Is she hurt?”

  “No. She’s dragging her blanket through the water. Listen, Clayton, I need to go. I’ve got to finish mopping up the water before it ruins the wood floors. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Before he could say anything, there was a click in his ear. He sank back down on the bed, disappointment weighing on his shoulders. With a frown he leaned to drop the receiver on its base, then fell back on the bed. He groaned as the sheets scratched across his sores, and rolled to his stomach, propping his chin on his wrists again.

  He was tempted to ignore Rena’s claim that she could handle things without his help and hightail it for Salado…but then he remembered the fervor with which she had told him of her desire to feel independent and in control.

  He’d give her twenty-four hours to resolve her plumbing problems, he promised himself. But if she wasn’t home by then, he was heading to Salado whether she thought she needed his help or not.

  Sick to death of being closed up indoors for so long, Clayton stepped out onto the front porch. He stretched his arms high above his head, growled low in his throat, then dropped his arms to his sides with a sigh. Deciding this was the perfect spot to watch for Rena and the twins’ arrival, he dragged one of the wicker chairs close to the railing. With a glance at the front door, to reassure himself he’d left it open and could hear the phone if it rang, he dropped down on the chair and lifted his feet, propping his boots on the low railing.

  With his hands folded behind his head, he leaned back and waited, his gaze on the long drive that stretched from the house to the main road. He could see Pete in the distance, riding his horse, and kind of hoped Pete would head his way. He was tired of his own company and thought jawing with Pete for a while might help pass the time while he waited for Rena and the kids to arrive.

  He narrowed his eyes as a car turned onto the drive, then dropped his arms and stood, waiting for the car to reach the house. When it did, a man stepped from the vehicle, pausing a moment to adjust a gray felt cowboy hat over his head, before turning for the house.

  Clayton noted the county sheriff’s emblem on the side of the door, the badge on the man’s shirt, and his blood ran cold. “What can I do for you?” he called out.

  The man stopped and looked up at him. “Are you Clayton Rankin?”

  “Yessir, I am,” Clayton replied and crossed to the steps.

  The man slipped a sheaf of papers from the inside of his jacket and handed them to Clayton. “Consider yourself served,” he said, then touched a finger to the brim of his hat in farewell and strode back to his car.

  Stunned, Clayton looked down at the papers he held, knowing without looking what they were. Suddenly weak-kneed, he sank down to the steps.

  “Hey, Clayton!”

  Clayton glanced up, his eyes narrowed dangerously, and watched Pete lope his horse
toward the house, then rein him to a sudden stop not more than three feet from the steps.

  “You in trouble with the law or something?” Pete teased as he swung a leg over the back of the saddle and dropped to the ground.

  “You might say so,” Clayton muttered. He held out the papers to Pete. “Seems I’ve just been served.”

  Frowning, Pete took the papers and opened them. He scanned the first few lines, then murmured, “Oh, man. This is bad. Real bad. I didn’t think she was going to go through with it.”

  “Seems she not only was, she did.” Clayton rose and snatched the papers from Pete’s hand, then turned and headed for the front door.

  “What are you going to do?” Pete called, stopping him.

  “Do?” Clayton replied, turning. “Find me a rodeo. What else?”

  Rena drove up to the house and parked, frowning at the dark windows. Though it was late, she thought Clayton would have waited up for her. “Come on, kids,” she said, stretching over the back seat to unbuckle their seat belts. “Let’s go and wake up Daddy.”

  Before Rena could open her own door, the twins were jumping to the ground and running, screaming, “Daddy! We’re home!”

  Chuckling, Rena closed her door and followed them, watching as they burst through the front door, and silently prayed that Clayton was feeling up to a full-scale invasion. Knowing he wouldn’t have a choice in the matter, not with the twins so anxious to see him, she stepped across the threshold, switching on a light. She could hear the twins running down the hall, arguing over who got to wake up their daddy. She sighed, tossed her purse to a chair and followed, prepared to rescue him, if necessary.

  The twins met her in the hallway, their faces downcast.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Where’s your daddy?”

  “He’s not here,” Brittany complained.

  Rena glanced over their heads to peer at the dark doorway of the master bedroom. “Are you sure?”

  “We looked everywhere. Do you think maybe he’s at the barn?”

  Though she doubted it, Rena walked back to the kitchen, flipping on the overhead light as she went to the back door. Opening it, she looked out toward the barn and noticed, for the first time, that Clayton’s truck was missing. “Maybe he had to go into town for something,” she said to the twins.

  “No, he didn’t.”

  Rena jumped, a scream building in her throat, then swallowed it when Pete stepped from the shadows and into the light. “Pete Dugan!” she cried. “You should be shot! You nearly scared the life out of me.”

  “Sorry. But I saw the headlights from Carol’s when you turned onto the drive and figured I better make sure someone wasn’t sneaking in to clear out the place.” He narrowed an eye at her. “That wasn’t your plan, was it?”

  “What plan?” Rena asked in confusion.

  “To clean the house out while Clayton’s gone.”

  “Gone?” she repeated, even more confused. “Where? And why would I want to clean out the house?”

  He folded his arms across his chest, and lifted a shoulder. “Heard of women doing that. Grabbing all they can before the divorce is final.”

  “Divorce?” Rena echoed. “We’re not getting a divorce.”

  “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playin’,” Pete said, “but I’m gettin’ a little tired of being strung along.”

  Glancing down to see the twins hanging on every word, Rena put a hand on a shoulder of each and turned them from the door. “Y’all go watch TV for a minute,” she said, and gave them a little nudge in that direction, “while I talk to Pete.”

  When she was sure they were out of earshot, she turned back to Pete. “I don’t know what Clayton has told you,” she said tersely, “but I have not filed for a divorce.”

  Pete lifted his chin, gesturing inside the house and to the kitchen table. “Somebody did. The papers are there are on the table. Saw ’em myself.”

  Rena spun, saw the sheaf of carefully folded papers on the table, then bolted for them, snatching them up and holding them open, her fingers trembling. She scanned the first page, flipped to the next, then quickly shuffled to the last page. “Ben Wheeler,” she muttered furiously, crumpling the papers in her fist.

  “Who’s Ben Wheeler?” Pete asked, having followed her into the kitchen.

  “My father’s attorney,” she said, spinning to face him. “Do you know where Clayton is?”

  “Not far. Seguine.”

  “Will you stay with the children?”

  “Why? Where are you goin’?”

  “I’m going after my husband.”

  Pete ripped off his hat with a loud whoop and tossed it to the table. “’Atta girl! Throw a rope around him and drag him home!”

  Anxious to escape the bright lights and the questioning glances, Clayton put his spurs to Easy’s sides, urging the horse into a trot as he headed for his trailer. If one more person asked him if he’d managed to talk Rena into coming back home with him, he was afraid he was going to put a fist through somebody’s face. Mainly Pete’s, since he suspected it was Pete who had broadcast Clayton’s personal business for all the world to know.

  Reining his horse to a stop beside the trailer, he slid down from the saddle and flipped the rein over Easy’s head.

  “Do you believe everything you read?”

  Clayton whipped his head around at the sound of Rena’s voice, his heart stopping for a minute, then scowled and turned away, tying Easy’s reins to the side of the trailer. “When it’s delivered by a sheriff and written up by some fancy lawyer, I do.”

  “That’s a shame,” she said, and stepped from the shadows to stand at the opposite side of Easy’s head. “If you hadn’t, you would have been home to greet me and the children when we arrived.”

  His fingers faltered a moment, but he forced them back into motion, jerking the reins into a slip knot.

  Rena laid a hand against the horse’s nose and rubbed. “Hello, Easy,” she murmured. “You did really well tonight.”

  Clayton jerked his head around to stare at her. “You saw me make my throw?”

  Her gaze on the horse, Rena smiled. “Yes. It was a good one, though you were a little slow coming out of the box.”

  Hell, yeah, I was a little slow, Clayton thought angrily. Anybody who’d been served divorce papers not more than five hours before, would have been a little distracted. Scowling, he lifted the saddle’s fender and hooked the stirrup over the horn. “Maybe so,” he said sourly, “but I’m in the lead.”

  Rena cut a glance his way. “The rodeo’s not over yet.”

  Clayton gave the girth strap a tug, releasing it, then pulled the sweaty strap through the ring. “You here to critique my ropin’?”

  She ducked under the horse’s head to stand beside Clayton. “No, I came to take you home.”

  Suddenly feeling light-headed, Clayton braced an arm against the saddle and leaned into it, pressing his forehead into the curve of his elbow.

  Rena stepped closer and placed a hand lightly against his back. “I didn’t send those papers, Clayton,” she said softly. “My father did.”

  He gulped a breath, afraid he was going to cry, but kept his face buried against his arm, not wanting her to see his tears if he did. “You didn’t know anything about it?”

  “No. Not a thing. Which, I assure you, is a matter I will take up with my father first thing in the morning.”

  She rubbed her hand up his back and curled her fingers around his neck. “I love you, Clayton,” she said softly and drew his head to meet hers. “We’re going to get through this. I promise you. Somehow we’re going to get through this.”

  He turned then, and hauled her into his arms, burying his face against her hair. “God, Rena,” he cried, squeezing her tight enough to crack bone. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. I don’t want to lose you. I’d die if I lost you. You’re my life. My everything.”

  As quickly as he’d grabbed her, he released her, only to catch her cheeks
between his hands. “I love you, Rena,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming with tears. “I love you with all my heart, all my soul. And I swear, I’ll never stop telling you that. You’ll hear those words till the day I die.”

  Laughing, Rena threw her arms around his neck. “Clayton! You said it. You finally said it!”

  Laughing with her, he lifted her from her feet and spun her around. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he yelled for all the world to hear.

  “Do me, Daddy! Do me!”

  Clayton stumbled to a stop and slowly lowered Rena back to her feet. Both of them turned to find Pete standing behind them, a twin propped on each hip, Brittany with her arms outstretched to her daddy.

  Pete lifted both shoulders and grinned. “I said no a thousand times or more. Every time they asked me to bring them over here, I said no. I swear I did. I probably could’ve held out a little longer, despite the pressure they were puttin’ on me, but then one started squallin’, then the other one tuned up.” He lifted his shoulders again. “Hell, what’s a man supposed to do?”

  “Uh-oh,” Brittany said, clamping a hand over her mouth and giggling. “You said a no-no word, Uncle Pete.”

  Clayton walked over and slapped a hand down on the brim of Pete’s hat, knocking it down over his eyes. “He sure did, shortcake,” he said, and plucked Brittany from Pete’s arm and shifted her to his hip. “Guess he’ll have to spend some time in the time-out chair.”

  Rena held out her arms, and Brandon fell into them. “Sure will,” she agreed, planting Brandon on her hip. “Or we could just wash his mouth with soap.”

  “Now there’s an idea,” Clayton said as he wrapped his arm around Rena’s waist. He headed her toward his truck. “In fact, I think I’ve got a bar of lye soap in my trailer.

  “Hey, now, wait a minute,” Pete complained, shoving his hat back on his head and bracing his hands on his hips as he stared after them. “Isn’t a man entitled to a trial before he’s proclaimed guilty and hung?”

  Rena and Clayton both turned to look back at him. “Hung?” they said in unison, then turned to look at each other. “Hung,” Clayton said again, arching a questioning brow at his wife.