Once, the Tisdales had owned a pretty good spread. His father, Beau said, had drunk it all away. Tyler Tisdale liked his whisky more than he ever cared for anything—including his wife and his three sons. “He had his whisky and his cruel and crooked little heart and that was all he needed….”
Beau talked about his mom that night. His voice was soft when he spoke of her, soft and so sad. “She was a good woman. Gentle, you know? My dad would beat on her and she would…bear it. She wore long sleeves and high collars in summer to cover the bruises.”
Starr couldn’t understand how Beau’s mother had put up with so much abuse. “She should have left him.”
“She did leave him, once. Took me with her, down to Arkansas where my grandmother lived. Fat lot of good it did her to try to escape him. My dad just came and got us and when he had her alone, at home…” He didn’t finish that sentence. “She never tried to leave again. And she died of pneumonia a few years later. By then, my brothers were in their teens—a couple of mean, ugly-hearted chips off the old block. They would beat on her, too. Sometimes I think she died just to get away from them.”
At least, Starr thought, there was some justice in the world. “They got theirs, those brothers of yours.”
“Yeah…” The word kind of trailed off, filled with regret. He was staring up, into nothing, and she sensed that he might have said more.
She touched his square jaw and he turned his head to look at her. “What?” she asked softly.
“I just…should’ve stood up to them more.” He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “’Course, every time I did, they’d knock me right down and cut me with something. Or burn me. T.J. was the one who loved to burn me. Lyle’d hold me down and T.J.’d have that cigarette ready…” He let out a hard gust of breath. “My dad taught them good. They knew not to get me on the face. Cuts and burns and bruises on the body can be covered up with clothing. But who’s gonna buy it if you go around with something covering your head? Uh-uh. People are bound to notice if you’re cut up on the face. They would’ve had the police or the child protective services people down on them for that….”
He fell silent again. And then, in a faraway voice, as if he was talking to himself more than to her, he said, “Over the years, it got to be like they owned me. They kind of…took me over, cut by cut and burn by burn.”
She cuddled in tight to him, pressing her lips to a burst of scar tissue at his shoulder. “But you did stand up to them—in the end.”
“Not soon enough,” he said, and then, as if to emphasize the point, he said it again. “Not soon enough…and they were the ones who blew it there.”
She tipped her head back to look at him. “How?”
“By making me go to work for your dad as part of their scheme to rustle Rising Sun cattle. I met your dad—and liked him from the first. I sat down to eat in the kitchen with your family…and I met you. I started thinking the wildest thoughts. That if you could care about me, maybe I should care a little more about myself. That there were people in the world who led clean, honest lives. That I would give just about anything for a chance to live like that myself.”
Much later that night, Beau lay in Starr’s bed, awake.
He watched Starr as she slept. She looked so soft and trusting.
He wished he could sleep like that, careless and easy, all the worries of the world pushed away.
But he never could. There was always, for him, a certain level he stayed at. A level of readiness, he supposed. Any odd, meaningless noise—the wind in the eaves, a coyote’s cry—could bring him right up to full alertness.
He kissed her temple. She only sighed and snuggled closer. He brushed her hair away from her forehead. “Starr…”
“Hmm?” She opened one eye, grinned—and then stretched.
“Gotta go.”
“No…”
“Yeah.”
“Stay. Just for a little while…” She stuck out her lower lip, pretending to pout.
He resisted the urge to kiss that pout away. “Sorry.” He eased his arm out from under her, sat up and swung his legs to the floor.
Starr lay back on her pillow and watched him dress, admiring the play of muscles in his back as he pulled on his jeans and his boots. The white scars where there, too. But not so thick as on his chest. He grabbed his shirt and stuck his arms in it, standing as he started buttoning up, turning to give her a smile.
She asked, “Give me my robe, will you?”
He lifted it from its peg and she got up and tied it around her and walked him to the door. He kissed her there, on the threshold. She clung a little, but surrendered to his leaving when he took her by the shoulders and gently set her away. He reached for his hat.
She smiled to herself at that, a woman’s knowing smile. “When a man reaches for his hat, a girl knows there’s no keeping him….”
He touched her chin, tipping it up, and brushed one last kiss against her lips. “You know I’ll be back.”
She stood in the doorway and watched him go, wishing that, just one time, he could stay till dawn.
He waved as he drove away. She waved back, feeling dreamy and content—and yet, still, a little bit sad.
When his taillights disappeared in the night, she shut the door and went back to bed. She switched off the light and lay there alone, listening to a coyote howling somewhere out in the darkness.
A second howl joined the first and that made her feel better, somehow, more at peace with the way the things were between her and Beau. They didn’t have forever. He didn’t even spend the whole night.
But still, this was a beautiful time, this summer of theirs. It was perfect, in its way.
A few nights later, as they lay there in bed, a storm came up. The rain beat on the old roof and it felt so good, just to lie there with Beau’s cherishing arms holding her close, listening to it coming down—until they realized there was a dripping sound coming from the outer room.
Buck naked, they jumped out of bed to investigate and discovered a leak in the roof, above the iron daybed that sat against the far wall. Laughing together, they shoved the bed out of the way and Starr found a bucket to catch the drips.
“I’ll get Tim to look at the roof tomorrow,” she told him. They went back to bed. Around midnight, as always, he took his leave.
She woke in the morning to the sound of someone hammering up on the roof. She went out into the clear sunlight and the muddy yard to find Beau up there, fixing the leak. When he came down, she gave him coffee and told him she’d decided to keep him around.
He pulled her into his lap and kissed her soundly. “You’ve made the right decision, as I am yours for the whole summer. You’d have a hell of a time getting rid of me before Labor Day.”
She felt a little stab of sadness and she couldn’t keep herself from asking, “Only for the summer?”
He must have noticed the change in her tone. He said, quietly, “Yeah. For the summer. That was the deal.”
She laid her hand on the side of his face, felt the roughness of morning stubble—and wondered how she would bear it when September came around. “Right. That was the deal.” She gave him a smile and another long kiss and he left a few minutes later.
Starr watched him drive off and reminded herself that she had a job lined up in New York, a job she wanted that would lead to a better job. In a year, she’d be an assistant editor. She planned to work hard and keep focused and move up the ranks quickly. She’d be a full-fledged editor in no time. She wasn’t walking away from her own future—and Beau didn’t want her to walk away from it.
That day, her period was due. It didn’t come. She hardly gave it a thought.
But a week later, when her period still hadn’t come, she found herself thinking about it often. By then, the worry had become a constant nagging in the back of her mind.
Beau came over that night, a Tuesday. They had chicken-fried steak with country gravy and after the meal, they spent a long, sweet time making love.
&nbs
p; When he got up to go, he asked if something was bothering her. “You seem…I don’t know. Kind of far away. You got something on your mind?”
She almost told him her fears right then. But no, she decided. Better find out for certain before laying something like this on the poor guy. So she lied. She reassured him there was nothing and sent him on his way.
After he was gone, she sank back among the pillows with a sigh and admitted to herself that it was time she found out for certain. She needed a home pregnancy test—and she didn’t want to buy it at the drugstore in Medicine Creek.
Okay, maybe she was being paranoid, but she could run into anyone in there. People seemed to be pretty much minding their own business when it came to her and Beau. But it was a small town. If someone who liked to gossip saw her buying a kit, it could get back to Beau—and her dad and Tess—before she even had a chance to take the darn thing. Then what?
The test would probably turn out negative. Why get everyone upset if there really wasn’t anything to be upset about?
She could go on over to Buffalo….
But no. Even going there made her nervous. Her family was locally so well-known; someone might recognize her. And Sheridan wasn’t all that much farther away than Buffalo, really….
Oh, she was being stupid, and she knew it. Women did get pregnant, after all. It was a fact of life. So what if some casual acquaintance happened to see her buying a test? What did she care?
A lot, she thought. I care a lot. Not for herself so much, but there was her dad. Zach Bravo might turn a blind eye to the way Beau’s pickup was parked in front of the cabin till midnight most nights. But if Starr turned up pregnant, he was not going to be happy.
Not until Beau had married her…
And even more important than her dad’s reaction, there was Beau himself. If she was having Beau’s baby, he had a right to hear the news first from her own lips—not from some town tale-teller.
Wednesday, she had to work with Jerry from eight to five, putting the paper to bed for the week. She headed for Sheridan as soon as she got off.
It took less than half an hour to get there from town. She found a Kmart on North Main and bought the test without recognizing a soul. She was back in the Suburban and on her way home before six, turning into the drive that led to the ranch house—and her own place beyond it—by six forty-five.
She saw Beau’s pickup, there in the clear space in front of the cabin, as she drove in. He was waiting on the step. He rose as she pulled to a stop.
The bag with the test in it sat on the passenger seat in plain view. She snatched it up and stuck it under her own seat without even thinking twice. No need for him to see it—and maybe ask her what was in it.
He strode to her door and pulled it open for her. “Working late, huh?”
She lied by evasion. “What a day—but if I’d known you were coming over, I’d have told Jerry I couldn’t stay.”
He reached out a hand to help her down, then hooked an arm around her waist. The familiar thrill went through her, as he pulled her close. His eyes gleamed down at her and his strong arms held her as if he would never let her go. “Why is it I can’t seem to keep away from you?”
She stretched up and kissed his handsome nose. “Do you hear me complaining?” Tomorrow, she thought. I’ll tell him tomorrow.
Once she knew for certain that it was a false alarm, she’d tell him how worried she’d been. They would laugh about it, about how it had been a close call and she’d gotten so freaked over it, she’d hid the test from him and lied about her trip to Sheridan. They would say how they really had nothing to worry about. They’d been so careful, except for that first time.
And then, in a day or two, her period would come….
Oh, yes. She was sure of it. It was going to be all right.
He kissed her—a long, sweet kiss. When he raised his head, she grabbed his hand. “Come on. Let’s see what we can find to eat around here.”
In the morning, first thing, she went out and got the bag from under the seat. She took the test in the bathroom out back.
When she looked at the result panel, her mouth went dry as prairie dust and her heart stopped beating—then started up again, triple-time. Her hands felt sweaty and a hot flush flooded upward over her cheeks.
It was not all right, after all. She did, very definitely, have something to worry about.
Chapter Nine
Beau didn’t come to see her that night—and she didn’t drive over to Daniel’s to see him. She wasn’t ready yet to talk about it. Not with Beau—not with anyone.
Friday, they’d planned a night out: Carmelita’s for dinner, and then maybe over to Mustang Sally’s for a couple of beers and a dance or two. But when he arrived to pick her up, she told him she’d rather just stay home.
He didn’t care if they went out or not, so she fixed a simple dinner and they strolled down by the creek and later they made slow, sweet love.
She was thinking she would tell him her problem then, after the loving, while they were lying there, all content and relaxed in each other’s arms.
But the right words, somehow, just wouldn’t come. And then he tipped her chin up and kissed her again.
She gave herself up to his kiss, to his touch. For a while, lost in his arms, she forgot all about the little problem she had.
Saturday, she went over to the main house to work for a while. She made several calls to various neighbors, found out who was visiting whom; who was planning a trip, and where they would go. Then she sat down at her computer to write Mabel Ruby’s column, Over The Back Fence.
Mabel was in her nineties. She’d been writing the column for forty years and telling Jerry for the last five of those years that she wanted to retire.
Jerry wouldn’t hear of it. “People count on you, Mabel. They want to know what’s going on with their neighbors—who took a trip to California, whose great-uncle Harold is staying for the week….”
Since he wouldn’t let her quit officially, Mabel just stopped turning in the columns. Jerry wrote them for her—or had Starr do it during the summer.
Starr wrote, Bobby Terry’s back in town from Boston for a short vacation, staying with the Terry family at the Terry Ranch. Rumor had it Bobby’s wife had kicked him out again—but of course, Over The Back Fence wouldn’t include any news like that.
As she wrote, Starr took care never to give specific dates for when people would be out of town. Ten years back, some local lowlife had caught on to watching the column for times when folks would be away. He’d made a tidy haul, breaking in and burglarizing their empty houses—until he got caught and confessed how he’d known which houses to rob.
Faith and Kevin Johnston have bought a new pop-up vacation trailer. They’ll be hitting the road soon for a two-week trip to the Pacific Northwest with daughters Kim, 7, and Kaylee, 9. Over the phone, Faith had confided she was pregnant again. “Just between you and me, Starr…”
Pregnant, Starr thought. The word kind of stalled her out. She stared blankly at the screen for a while.
Lucky Faith, with a loving husband and two little girls and a pop-up vacation trailer. Faith was at that place in her life where a baby made total sense….
Starr took a break, joining Tess and Edna in the kitchen where they were preparing the midday meal. Edna stood at the stove frying sausage and ground beef. Spaghetti sauce bubbled on the back burner. Tess, at the counter, spread her special butter and garlic paste onto split loaves of French bread. Ethan sat at the table with a coloring book and crayons.
“Starr, c’mere,” her brother commanded. “Look.” He pointed at a row of stick figures he’d drawn. “Mommy and Daddy and Auntie Ed. And you and Jo…and Reggie.” He made a sad face. Zach’s old hound had died that past winter. “See?” He pointed at the crooked halo he’d drawn above the stick-dog’s head. “He’s just visiting. From heaven.” He pointed at the smallest figure. “And that’s me. Cute, huh?”
“Very.” She ruffled his ha
ir.
“Cut it out,” he grumbled, ducking away from her affectionate hand. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Starr stared down at his bent head, at his little hand wrapped around a red crayon….
Hadn’t it only been yesterday that he was teething? He’d held up his little arms to her. “Stah, Stah…” Starr had got him a teething biscuit and sat out on the front porch with him in her arms, rocking him until he dropped off to sleep.
Now, here he was, almost five, big enough to be insulted when she ruffled his hair. He’d be heading off to school in no time. How had this happened?
Tess was talking to her. “Feel like cutting up a salad?”
Starr blinked. “Uh. Sure.” She got the greens and the other stuff from the fridge and hauled it all to the sink. She pulled the big wooden salad bowl down from the shelf, got out a cutting board and a nice, sharp knife and set to work.
Tess had the bread ready. At the last minute, she’d pop it in the oven. Tidy as always, she began cleaning up her work area. “’Scuse me.”
Starr ducked away as she opened a cupboard. Her pink shirt rode up and Starr got a quick glimpse of the front of her jeans.
Unsnapped.
Pregnant, Starr thought, as if she didn’t already know. Pregnant. The word itself seemed to have new layers of meaning—all them scary. Soon Tess would be wearing those stretch jeans with the pregnancy panel. She’d get big as Meggie was now. Wherever she went, her stomach would lead the way.
And then, in January, there’d be a new baby.
Her mind only half focused on the action, Starr brought the knife down. Instead of the radish on the board, she cut a big slice out of her finger. The blood welled up, a red so dark it almost looked black. Starr stared at it, appalled.
Tess was right there. “Oh, no. Here.” She flipped on the faucet. “Better give me that.” She took the knife.
Fifty Ways to Say I’m Pregnant Page 10
