“Right,” Dana said. “Will, we’ve already talked about this. Remember?”
Of course, he remembered. It had been after his first championship five years ago. High on his victory and the attention of buckle bunnies, he’d asked Dana if she wanted to date him. In retrospect, he had made it sound as if he was doing her a favor. She told him that if he valued their friendship, he wouldn’t bring up that stupid idea again.
But now he was no longer a rodeo star, which he figured upped his ranking in Dana’s eyes. “I was thinking we could revisit that talk.”
“Why would we ever revisit it? Nothing’s changed.”
Will shifted in his seat, the uncalculated motion catching his right shoulder in a white-hot vise grip. Time to book another never-ending physio appointment that lessened but never eliminated the pain.
Dana noticed. “Your shoulder.”
“It’s acting up some.”
“Ah, that explains it. We haven’t changed, but you have. Your injury bumped you off the circuit a couple of years before you intended and suddenly you want to settle down, get married, live happily ever after on the family ranch.”
She made him sound dull and plodding. But he’d seen enough of the world to know he’d had the good fortune of being born exactly where he wanted to be. That he also wanted a good woman and a family to share his part of the world with—like every other Claverley firstborn—made him...traditional.
He searched for common ground with Dana. “You’ve got to admit we agree on a lot of things.”
“No, we don’t. We agree to disagree on a lot of things, which doesn’t work well in a relationship. Especially marriage.”
“We’re not that far apart.”
“Really? You prefer early or late calving?”
“Somewhere in between.”
She looked peeved, like Keith when he’d shot off the same question.
“Where would we live? My place or yours?”
“My place.”
Her lips thinned. He fumbled for an explanation. “My yard is bigger. We’d have more room to build our own house.”
“And horses? How many?”
As many as he could fit. He wanted to go big on horses, since his rodeo days were over. “That,” he said, “is nonnegotiable.”
“My point. I threw a bunch of questions at you, and you and I didn’t line up on any of them.”
Will tried one last one. “Kids?”
“Yes.”
“There you go. We agree.”
“I want four.”
“Uh...”
“Exactly.”
“But you’re already thirty. Don’t you think that’s a little unreasonable?”
“Don’t I know it? Don’t I know that with every ticking minute, I’m getting further away from where I want to be?”
Beneath her snappish anger, Will heard her pain. “I’m sorry, Dana. If you’re so set against me, do you have anybody in mind?”
Dana sighed, not all dreamy-like, more exasperated. “Yeah, I do. But he doesn’t notice me that way, and never has. And don’t even ask me his name because I’d set myself on fire before I’d tell you.”
“So what’s his name?”
“I just said—” She stopped when she saw his grin, and reluctantly smiled.
Back on safer ground but uncertain where they stood, Will decided to ask about a different matter. “Since we’re both single for now, are we still on for the rodeo?” Ever since Will had made it big, he’d collected points, trophies...and the attention of buckle bunnies. When he’d been on the circuit, he’d spent his downtime dodging them. And every year when the rodeo came to his family ranch for five days, Dana posed as his girlfriend to give him a break.
She tossed down her half-chewed chunk of bread. “You know what? You’re right. I’m not getting any younger. And pretending to hook up with you for any amount of time will not get me where I want to be.”
She stood. “Your turn to pick up the bill.” She started to leave, then whipped back around. “Wait. Even that’s changing. We go dutch. No. Even that implies we’re in a relationship.” She slapped a ten on the table. “You deal with the rest.”
“Dana,” he called after her. “We still friends?”
“Sure, Will, sure. But we both know that’s not what either of us should be going after.”
After she left, Will sat back. He grasped the what of the matter, but no longer the who. And truth be told, he was relieved that Dana had shot him down again. She’d make a good wife for someone else. But she was right—he needed someone he had more in common with.
* * *
FROM BEHIND THE steering wheel of his truck, Will watched his mother emerge from Krista’s spa. She blinked and raised her face to the sun, then lowered it to take in the fresh blue expanse of the lake across the street, finally snow-free here at the end of April. She carried a mint green paper bag that she swung as she walked—no, strolled—her way to the truck, settling into the passenger seat like a hen onto her nest.
His mother moved to lift her hand, but as if made of cement, it fell to her lap. Her nails were painted a shade of pink he’d never seen before. Sort of orange, like a sunset. “I had a massage. It was...heavenly.”
She never used that word to describe anything.
“Uh, good to hear, Mom. You deserve to put your feet up.”
“I do,” she murmured and smiled as if she’d received secret wisdom.
What had Krista done to his mother? The exterior of Krista’s Place was all done up in light blues and greens. On the step was a giant vase filled with grasses and dried flowers. All innocent and friendly and inviting. Except inside was Krista with her magic hands turning sharp-tongued mothers into boneless dreamers.
They drove the seven miles home in silence. His mother didn’t ask about the groceries she’d asked him to pick up, whether he’d bought the spaghetti that was on sale, or if he’d placed the order for binder twine. She didn’t ask about his meetup with Dana, something he was grateful for. Instead, she leaned back and closed her eyes, and didn’t open them until he pulled to a stop at the ranch house.
She stepped out, slow and easy. The house had the advantage of being sheltered by spruces planted there by his grandparents, but was set high enough on a hill to give a view of the barn, corrals and beyond that to the pastures. His mother contemplated the view, her head tilted, like she was admiring a painting.
Into the picture walked his father from the barn. He lifted his gaze to them, and Will’s mother waved. A little finger waggle, her pinky raised. Weird. Will grabbed a couple bags of groceries and went inside the house. Normally, his mother would have picked up the last two, but today she had cooked noodles for arms.
When he returned for the rest, his father had his mother up against the passenger door—and they were kissing! His dad’s cowboy hat obscured the exact particulars, but from the way their bodies were cinched together there was no mistaking the nature of things.
He’d never seen his parents kiss, other than the odd peck or two on special occasions. Nothing like this full-body engagement.
He tried to sneak the last two bags from the driver’s side without a sound, but they broke apart. Whatever Krista had infected his mother with, his dad had caught it, because both of them had the same heavy-lidded, sun-warmed look.
“I suppose,” his mother said, “I should go inside and fix us a bite to eat.” Then she sauntered to the house, the little green bag swinging away.
His dad watched her as Will moved to follow with the grocery bags.
“Hey,” his father said, “I’ll take those.”
He stepped in front of Will. “Do you know what’s got into her?”
“She went for a manicure at Krista’s Place. She stayed on for a massage, and she came out like this.”
His father stripped th
e grocery bags from Will’s hold. “You go back to Krista’s and sign her up for more of where this came from.”
“What? Now?”
His dad was already following his wife inside. “What are you still doing here?”
CHAPTER TWO
WILL PULLED UP to Krista’s Place in time to see the “Open” sign with the front silhouette of a woman flipped to her curvy backside marked “Closed.” He cleared the two steps in one leap, rattling the vase of grasses, and rapped on the door.
Common sense told him to leave it for another day, except his curiosity had got the better of him. He’d barely exchanged a dozen words with Krista in a decade, but between Laura and now his mother, he wanted to see what was happening for real.
The wooden blinds parted to reveal a cheek and blue eye. He called, “I’m sorry, could we talk a moment?” A family of four on the sidewalk looked at him, then at the sign with its crazy, illogical motto.
He must sound like some heartbroken guy begging for another chance. C’mon, Krista.
The lock snapped back and the door opened. There she was. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed. Hard to deny her beauty, even in her casual getup of white cargo pants and yellow top. Ten years on, and he still felt her pull.
Her hip jutted out. “Will. What can I do for you?”
“It’s actually not me. It’s my mom. She was here earlier.”
A tiny V-frown appeared on her forehead. “Janet left not a half hour ago. Is she okay?”
“She’s a lot okay. That’s why I’m back here. My dad sent me. He’d like to get—” what did “more of where this came from” exactly constitute? “—book another appointment. Or session. Or whatever you call it.”
Her lips twitched into a near smile. He didn’t blame her. If he looked half as foolish as he felt, he could understand if she doubled over with laughter.
Her hip curved out a titch more. “Ever hear of a phone?”
Well now, he’d never thought of that. What did that say about how badly he wanted to see her? “I—I prefer to do this in person.” It was the truth, although it came off as if they were about to undertake a shady transaction.
She straightened and opened her door wider. “I appreciate your honesty, Will.”
He might as well have stepped into her home. There was a light blue sofa piled with yellow cushions. Curtains, blue and yellow, hung on the large front window. Wood plank flooring in warm browns. A couple of deep armchairs angled to each other, an art book on the small table between them. A fountain took up another corner, the little terraces wet and dark from where water had probably spilled those irritating trickles like a tap not properly shut off. A scent hung in the air—half like freshly cut hay and half another kind of sweet cleansing smell.
He picked out details of her business. A coat stand of bathrobes. Shelving with thick towels, and lines of lotions and shampoos along with small dark blue or brown glass bottles. Likely one or two of them had ended up in his mother’s little bag. On the wall was a large, antique mirror with an old-fashioned dresser in front covered with hair paraphernalia, and a swivel leather chair for cutting hair.
Krista stepped behind a table in the same blue as the sofa and sat at a matching wood chair, tapping on her phone. “When did your mother want to come back?”
“If it was up to my dad, later tonight.”
This time, she didn’t hold back her smile. She had a great one. Quick and so wide her eyes crinkled up. “I’m glad she enjoyed herself in the end.”
“She didn’t take to it right away?”
“She seemed to think it was an unnecessary expense on Laura’s part.”
“An expense my dad will happily pay.”
“I do have a loyalty card, if you—or your dad—is interested.” From a little basket she handed him her card. White with her business name in the same blue as the chair, underscored with “The heart wants what the heart wants.”
He was tempted to find out what she meant by that roundabout motto, but then again, he’d taken on enough matters of the heart for one day without asking for more. He flipped the card over. Ten small squares with FREE filled in the last box and in smaller letters “Any service of your choice.”
“What all did you do to her?”
“A manicure and then a full body massage. I also do wraps, pedicures, facials, full hair packages. I don’t do extensions but that shouldn’t matter in your mom’s case.”
Good, because he’d no idea what extensions were.
Krista seemed to sense his quandary. “Here. I have a Mother’s Day package. It includes a massage, body wrap, facial and her choice of a manicure or pedicure. Plus, the purchaser also receives a complimentary service. I’ll write it up as a gift card today, and then she can call me whenever to book her day.”
“Day?”
She turned over the pamphlet and pointed to the price at the bottom. Holy. Then again, it was for a full day. And his dad would pay him back. Except it was a Mother’s Day special, and he’d yet to find a way to thank his mother for being right there for him during his surgeries.
“All right. I’ll take that, then.”
“Sure. And what service would you like?”
Will couldn’t imagine ever submitting to any of her services, especially when they’d be one-on-one in her half home. He hadn’t been alone with Krista since she was sixteen, leaning against his truck, so close he could’ve pulled her into his arms and she would’ve let him. It had taken every shred of willpower to step away from her. Back then, Krista had dated many and stuck with none. She’d made no bones of the fact that she was leaving town as soon as she could, and he didn’t think he had what it took to make her stay. After he’d set young Krista back on her heels, they’d dodged each other.Until now, when he’d entered her space. Still, he wasn’t prepared for her magic hands on him. He’d seen what she’d done to his hard-as-nails mother. “How about I’ll take it as a gift certificate and pass it on to someone else?”
“I’m sorry, the certificates are nontransferable.”
“You made the rules. Can’t you change them for male customers?”
“A lot of men enjoy my spa services, particularly the pedicures.”
She was teasing him, he was sure of it. Her eyes were extra wide and her mouth pinched tight against laughter.
“How about I just decline the service?”
She set her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. “Scared to bare your feet to me, Will Claverley?” She made soft chicken-clucking noises.
“Fine. I’ll do it. How about now?” This far on in the day, she’d haggle for another time and he could say he was busy and save face.
Her mouth dropped open. Ha, she hadn’t expected that. She glanced at her phone, probably scrambling for a way out. But then she raised her blue eyes, the same ones that had nearly ensnared him a decade ago. “Sure, let’s do it.”
Shoot.
From the coat rack, she unhooked a pair of men’s pajama bottoms and pointed to a rear room. “Unless you can roll your pants up to your knees, time to change. Then meet me back here.”
* * *
KRISTA HAD EXPECTED Will to reject her. Give her the same easy smile, same regretful head tilt, and tell her he had other plans. That’s why she laid on the chicken noises, pushing him, because she trusted he’d push right back. Instead he’d countered with the perfect chance to reject him and she’d caved. He emerged from the changeroom. The slouchy pajama bottoms in blue plaid clashed with the bright red plaid of his shirt. He’d removed his hat and his thick, brown hair was a mess. He wore the slippers she also supplied to her clients, and he looked ready for a night at home watching movies with—with someone special.
Krista snapped her attention back to her clipboard. “I—uh, need you to fill out my Health History form since you’re a first-time client. It’s confidential, it makes me aware if
there are any services I shouldn’t perform.”
He took the clipboard and his hazel eyes widened. “I filled in less when I went for surgery on my shoulder.”
She already knew about his injury from Laura. He’d been kicked by a horse named Tosser. He’d undergone emergency surgery, followed by months of painful rehabilitation. He’d quit the circuit, his family relieved that his career hadn’t ended more seriously. Krista was pretty sure Will wouldn’t appreciate that his sister had divulged his personal information nor would Laura like her confidentiality with Krista breached. Better to pretend ignorance and disinterest. “See? Now that I know about that, I won’t suggest a massage, or at least not there.”
He raised his eyes from the checklist. “No way are you ever giving me a massage.”
Krista’s cheeks blazed. His tone was every bit as final as when he’d knocked back her advance in high school. Well, he wasn’t the first one who’d made her feel stupid. She forced herself to give him a perky smile. “So I take it a makeover is out?”
He paused again. “I’d say. I’m allergic to most creams. Break out something horrible.”
He didn’t crack a smile, and she wondered if he was teasing or telling the truth. A lot more men now were using moisturizers as a matter of course and his rodeo champion status might have required some kind of beauty regime for the cameras.
He returned the clipboard and she scanned his responses. Right shoulder. Right elbow. Right wrist. A whole lot of hurt for one arm. One very muscled arm. Left knee. Occasional pain. She came to the comments: leg spasms. Will kick without warning.
“Ha. Duly noted.” She gestured to her chair, her prize possession. She’d found it on Kijiji at a rock-bottom price, and unbelievably, in immaculate condition. But Will eased gingerly into the black leather with the mahogany tray and elevated foot rest, as if mounting one of his broncs.
“Relax. Enjoy.” Once his back made contact with the chair, she switched on the Shiatsu massage. He squirmed as the kneading rods rolled upward along his spine. When they reached his shoulder area, his suspicion faded and he breathed out. “This isn’t bad.”
Her Rodeo Rancher Page 2
