Carrie listened but wasn’t converted. “Well. It just takes a moment’s loss of concentration to go across the lane and hit another car. Anyway, I’m from out of state, so my guess is he can meet his tally by giving me a ticket, and I don’t want that.”
Ray took a gulp of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He figured anything more said on the subject would annoy her into leaving, and he rather enjoyed the sparring. In fact, she was pretty damn good looking if you came right down to it. “My wife used to read your books. You are the writer, aren’t you? Jake said…”
“Yes, I am a writer.”
“Yeah, my wife was a real fan. Used to keep me awake with ‘just one more chapter.’”
“Was a fan?” Carrie hedged.
“We’re…divorced. I guess the marriage just didn’t live up to all that romance she was reading.”
“I’m sorry.” There was an uncomfortable silence before she said, “Divorce is very unpleasant. Is it recent?”
“Oh.” Ray pondered a moment. “Yeah,” he finally said. Changing the subject, he went on asking, “Living in New York?”
“Yes. Most of the time. I have to travel a fair bit for either promotion or research. It’s research I’m doing here in Texas.”
“Research, huh? How does that work? I mean, are you researching me and everyone here, researching Texas dance halls, what?”
“Sort of. I’m trying to get a feel for the area, a sense of it so I can describe it realistically.”
Ray considered this. “A Texas romance, huh?” He took another swallow of beer. “Sounds good.” There was a somewhat sardonic note he couldn’t keep from his voice.
“Well, I’m struggling. But then I always do.” She sat with him, watching the fireflies for a moment before musing, “I thought these places served beer in a Mason jar?”
Ray tilted his head back to get the last out of his beer. “Ha! A country music fan?” He crushed the can, contemplating this fact. “Well, nowadays it’s mostly Shiner and Lone Star beer served as they come. But if you wanna go country, I can dig out a Mason jar for you if you like.”
Carrie threw her head back and laughed, like wind chimes ringing in the warm night.
“No, I’m fine, thank you.” She smiled at no one in particular, smoothing her hair at the back before asking, “I guess you’re really glad to have Jake home, huh?”
About to open another beer, Ray’s hand stopped in mid-air and he put the drink down again. He held her in his sight while considering his answer. “’Course I am. You send a child off to war, you can be sure you thank the good Lord if and when he comes home safe. You thank Him with every damn bone in your body. And then you get down on your knees and thank Him again.”
****
If she heard the words, ‘Welcome home, Jake’ or ‘Good to see you’ one more time, Paige would stomp on their Texas Swing feet and walk out. Everyone knew everyone else and, while he made brave attempts to keep introducing her, the curious glances she received did nothing to make her feel welcome.
“Sorry ’bout that,” he offered after another brief reunion. “I was out last night and thought I’d more or less seen most of my friends.”
“Well, you obviously have more friends than you know.” She stood, uncomfortable under the gaze of his ozone blue eyes, and shifted around to look through the crowd. “I guess I’m something of a curiosity, a novelty, huh?”
“Well…”
“Do they expect to see you with someone else? Did you leave a girlfriend behind?”
“Nope. No girlfriend.”
Jake put his elbows back on the bar before he took a swig of his drink. Her gaze ran over his lean, muscular body and found it difficult to believe one of the local belles hadn’t scooped him up. ‘Lanky’ was a word made for this Texan, and when the black hair grew in, he’d be downright irresistible.
But not to her; he wasn’t Steven, and a sudden yearning flowed through her veins like poison from a snakebite.
“You all right?” he asked suddenly.
She put her glass down on the bar. “Of course I’m all right,” she murmured. “Of course.”
The first strains of a slow dance brought couples out onto the floor. Jake extended his hand to her, questioning, palm open, and when she saw it, she stared a moment as if the hand were some foreign object, then caught the look of concern on his face.
Feeling as if she were in a slow motion movie, she held the proffered hand and let herself be led out onto the dance floor where he gently brought her in close and started to guide her to the tempo of the music. The warmth of his touch to her back dissipated the venom of loss that ran through her, and she let herself succumb closer to the heat of a man’s body. Solid, rock hard strength met her hand, and she would have liked to run her fingers down the arm, know the muscle and sinew underneath. Jake appeared to study her, consider her, let her be lost in her own thoughts, and for that she was grateful.
“You’re crying.”
His voice came like a whisper through a dream, bewilderment disorienting her. Suddenly aware of the damp streaking her face, she blinked up at him.
Jake stopped dancing for a moment, his hands still holding her. “Do you want to leave?”
“No,” replied Paige quietly. “I want to be held.”
****
Carrie had let a silence settle between them, a welcome quiet in which she enjoyed the warm Texas night.
Suddenly, Ray said, “Excuse me while I lean upon a hedge.”
He jumped down into the bushes off the side of the porch and disappeared into the shrubbery. A few minutes later, he returned with another three beers, thrashing his way through the plants like an explorer through jungle before stopping a moment and unsteadily arranging himself back into position on the edge of the porch. Disapproval played with the corners of her mouth.
“Not as young as I used to be,” he offered as an explanation.
“Nor as sober, I believe.” She waited to see what his reply would be but, when none was forthcoming, changed track. “A cowboy who quotes Shakespeare. That’s a first.”
“Lean upon a hedge? Oh, we’re full of surprises out here, the first one being we’re not all cowboys.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean… It wasn’t used as a pejorative term. I only meant—”
“It’s okay, forget it. But I prefer being called a rancher, ’specially as cows are not my business.”
“Well, how can you ranch if not with cows?”
“I run a horse and hunting ranch. Breed Arabs—the horse that is.” His humor shone through. “And run a hunting lodge operation.”
Carrie wondered how the gun side of this venture went with the alcohol.
“I never drink until after work,” he added, apparently reading her mind.
“Arabs? Wow.” Her head tilted in contemplation of this fact.
“You ride?”
“Yes. We had a couple of horses when Paige was growing up. Then she got more interested in boys than in horses.”
A laugh like a bass drum being tested came from Ray along with another of his smiles only showing in his eyes. “And did you get more interested in boys, too?”
Carrie’s back straightened, and she faced away.
“Sorry, that was rude of me,” he apologized. “I didn’t…I only meant, you didn’t have to give up horses as well.”
“I didn’t. I just didn’t have the time to care for them, and time for actual riding was at a premium.”
He acknowledged this with a small nod, reaching again for his flask. “So, is there a Mr. Bennett at present?”
“There was a Mr. Bennett. He’s moved on to greener pastures.”
“Sorry. As you said, divorce and all, not pleasant.”
His speech was beginning to slur, and a shade of what she took to be embarrassment colored his face.
“Well, it was a long time ago, Mr. Ryder,” she said more brightly, “and I am long over it.” She used the “Mr.” to put distance between
them, then regretted it, thinking he probably found her stuffy.
He nodded in acknowledgement, swaying slightly as his fingers whitened with his grip on the porch. “Ray. Please call me Ray.” He was obviously having difficulty controlling his voice; its timbre had dropped to a sigh.
“How did you settle on Arabs, then? Over, say, Morgans or whatever.” Her gaze met his, and she was surprised to find a pain, a hurt evident where the humor had once been.
“It was my son’s decision, my son’s idea.” His voice had gone flat.
“Jake?”
“No.” There was an abrupt note in his voice as he forced the matter to rest, puckering his mouth somewhat as if his lips had been glued to form an O, or perhaps he might whistle. “Say, I think it’s about time this hombre headed on home.” He reached out to lay his hand flat against the wall and give himself some leverage to get up. “Jake’ll get a ride with friends.” He swayed to his feet, stumbled, then steadied himself.
“Look, I really don’t think you’re in any condition to drive, Ray. Let me go find Jake for you. Please.” Carrie stood and tapped him gently on the shoulder, surprised at the bulk of muscle she found as he turned to face her.
“Sweetheart, you won’t be able to find Jake in this lot. I promise you. Jake and your baby girl—what’s her name?”
“Paige.”
“Jake and Paige are havin’ themselves a good time. Let ’em be. As I told you earlier, I’m quite capable of driving, and I promise no harm will come.”
He lifted his keys out of his pocket and swung them for a moment, a moment too long as Carrie grabbed them out of his hand. The surprise that crossed his face almost brought out a laugh in her, but she found the situation too serious.
She propelled him back against the wall and passed into the hall to search for Jake. “Stay there!” she ordered, poking back out a second later. “Don’t move.”
The scene greeting her was a heaving mass of bodies, but all she could see was the conviction of youth, their confidence in themselves, in one another, the beauty of their certainty in life. A small gasp escaped her and she whispered, “They’re so young.”
“Yep. They sure are.”
Ray stood beside her, and his hand went tentatively to her shoulder as if to comfort her, but he was only steadying himself again. The grainy odor of beer on his breath made her take a step away.
“Best give me back them keys, if you don’t mind, and I’ll be on my way. I’m sure Jake and your baby will eventually turn up, if you don’t mind waiting a while.”
“I will not give you back the keys. I’ll drive you myself,” she sputtered out, suddenly decisive. “I’ll text Paige where I am. She has the keys to our car, so she can come with Jake and collect me when she reads it. Assuming one of them can still drive…”
Her gaze locked with Ray’s in a battle of wills, seeing him for the first time. Dark eyes, strong chin, Stetson way down. He had that unshaven look, neither beard nor shadow, but something in-between. Her heart lurched for a moment, and an uncontrolled heat warmed her cheeks as well as her insides.
Whipping out her phone and starting to text, she avoided the penetrating stare that tried to read her back.
“Sure is difficult always tryin’ to do the right thing.” He paused in an uncomfortable silence. “All right then, come on Miz Designated Driver. Pickup’s down the road a bit.”
****
Jake gently released Paige’s hand as she relaxed back against the building and sighed, her eyes blinking shut for a moment before widening to stare at him. He had led her out a side door where there were fewer people, a scattering of couples kissing or talking quietly, away from the throng. Now, he wished Paige had meant what she had said, that she wanted to be held, because holding her was exactly what he wanted to do at this moment. Yet, she appeared so distant, so alien in her attitude and demeanor, he hesitated to approach her in any intimate manner. Her distance was a wall, a barrier which was almost impenetrable, as if she had once held the key and thrown it away.
“You all right?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. Maybe I just needed some air.” She tilted her head, a sigh escaping like the suspiration of the wind.
“Paige...”
She shook her head in response as the glare of overhead lights reflected in her sad eyes. “Jake, I...” Her voice trailed off and she was saved from continuing by the telegraphic beeps of her phone. “Oh, a text.” Paige straightened, pulled out her cell phone and scrolled down the words. “Jeez,” she murmured. “My mother is driving your father home. That’s funny—they must have met outside. She says we should come and collect her when we’re ready.” She peered up at him. “Maybe we should go? Or I can go alone and collect her if you give me the address.”
The abruptness of the situation puzzled Jake. He grunted. “You wouldn’t find it in a month of Sundays. Not with GPS or anything.” He let out a breath of exasperation. “Come on, I’ll go with you.” With this opportunity past, the drive would serve as time alone with her.
Paige studied him, and for one heady moment, there was the sense she might lean in and kiss him. She appeared to melt like ice in a warm bath. His desire for her was palpable, but if she was aware of it, she ignored the fact and shook her head as if ridding herself of cobwebs.
“One more drink,” she said, gaining her self-control again. “We’ll have one more drink then go.”
****
Ray pointed to his pickup, smirking slightly with the knowledge of what her reaction would probably be.
“You must be joking.”
He could hardly hear the mumbled comment, but it was exactly what he’d been expecting.
She glowered, a brow definitively arched in query. “What year is this thing?”
He attempted to wipe the amusement away from his face with a hand that rubbed his stubble in a satisfying scrape. “Sorry, I left the Cadillac at home this time.” A raised brow questioned if she took him seriously. “It’s an ’89, and still runs as smooth as the day I got it.”
“Which was, what? Last year?”
Ray shook his head and proceeded to the passenger door. “You have the key, sweetheart,” he said, patiently standing and waiting.
“Listen!” Carrie put her hands out as if to stop any further conversation. “First off, I am not your sweetheart. And second, if by any chance you think you just may have gotten lucky tonight—”
“Whoa, whoa now.” Ray was truly mystified at the turn events were taking. “Not that I wouldn’t be honored and damn well pleased, but I sure as heck wasn’t thinkin’ along those lines...and truth be told, you know, I’m hardly up to it.” He considered this for a second, a fog clearing for a moment’s view of the road. “And I don’t mean I need Viagra either.” He noted her staring at the key as if it might turn into something else. “No, it doesn’t open automatically,” he informed her at last.
She shoved the key into the handle and got the door open, climbed up into the cab and reached across to unlock the door for him. Her gaze ran over the dashboard, uncertainty scrunching her face like a bitter fruit.
Ray folded himself into the passenger seat and slouched back, tipping his hat over his eyes. “Just let me know when you give up. I’ll be right here, darl…” Yeah, better not. He could almost feel her indignation, listening as she squirmed around and adjusted the seat.
“It’ll be a cold day in hell, mister, before I give up!” The key turned and the truck sputtered to life, then died again.
“You ever drive manual before?” he mumbled from under his Stetson, and sensed Carrie eyeing him. “That’s what I thought,” he answered to her lack of response. “Put your foot on the clutch, move her into first, release the brake, and get goin’, slowly releasing the clutch.”
“Who the hell drives stick shift anymore?” she muttered as she followed his terse instructions. The truck lurched forward as she spun it off the grass toward the road.
“Right,” Ray directed, feeling suddenly nauseous w
ith the pitch of the car. Bile rising, he opened the door and spat before yanking it shut again. “Can you get the damn thing into second? Foot on the clutch, move the shift and let’s go if we’re going.”
“Fine! You don’t have to yell at me.”
Ray sat up, shoved his hat back from his eyes and glared at her, reining in his frustration and anger. “I was not yelling at you, but you know dang well we’d be far safer with me drivin’. As it is, I’m gonna need a new transmission.”
The truck staggered again. “I know no such thing.” She bent forward to swipe at the windscreen to clear it. “We haven’t got seatbelts on,” she murmured.
“We’re not going fast enough to need them.”
Carrie ignored his last remark and appeared to concentrate on keeping the truck moving. It sputtered again, and Ray let out a sigh of resignation just as flashing blue lights appeared in the side mirror. She pulled over, and the motor unceremoniously died.
“Damn!” she cursed, reaching down for her bag at Ray’s feet. “Let me get my license.”
“You won’t need it.” When the patrol car’s door slammed, he repeated, “Believe me, you won’t need it.”
“How can I not need it?” Carrie started to struggle with winding down the window. “Give me the—”
“Evenin’.” An almost perfectly square face topped by a sheriff’s hat peered in the window; porcine, virtually lashless eyes, which had caterpillars crawling above them, moved from Ray to her and back again. “Ray?” the officer drawled, “I thought I was at last gonna have to take you in, the way this old rattle trap was swerving. What’s up?” The piggy eyes darted between the two of them again.
“Hey, Dex. I got me a ‘designated driver’ tonight. How d’ya like that?” He brushed his hand across his mouth to hide a smile.
“Well, I’d say you got a driver tonight, but y’all’re gonna have to get yourself a new truck tomorrow.” He let out a belly laugh at his own joke while Carrie sat as if inanimate, an object the two men were discussing.
Ray patted her tentatively on the knee. “Ah, she’s doing real well, Dex. First time driving manual.”
Dances of the Heart Page 4
