Dances of the Heart

by Andrea Downing

  “Well, listen,” the sheriff continued, “I know y’all’re only a short distance from your turn-off, but next time, maybe you ought to keep the lesson to your ranch road.” He smacked the side of the truck and stood back, then leaned forward into the window. “I hear Jake is returned from Iraq? Wish him well and welcome home for me, will ya?”

  “Will do.”

  “And lady? Keep it between the ditches, will ya darlin’?”

  Ray sat with her in silence as Dex made his way to the patrol car and drove past them with a wave.

  A gurgle escaped from the driver’s side. Ray leaned forward to try to assess the damage to her pride. “You’re not crying, are you?” Concern etched his voice. “I mean, it wasn’t that bad.”

  Her reply was a burst of laughter so unaffected and self-effacing, it caught Ray completely off guard.

  “No, I’m not crying.” She appeared a bit sheepish, the laughter still evident around her mouth. “I suppose you find me incredibly stuffy and arrogant.”

  “Well, see, I didn’t know you could laugh. Isn’t that something?”

  “Oh, I can laugh. At myself mostly.” The key twisted in the ignition. “So, where to—where we headed next?”

  ****

  By the time the pickup grunted to a standstill outside the Rocking R ranch house, whatever tension had existed between the rancher and Carrie had dissolved. Dogs barked and yapped in anticipation of seeing their master, and she could hear the scratching at the door of the house. She glanced across at her companion, a sense of his loneliness and isolation dissipating any last remnants of her own aloofness. She sensed a connection, an empathy she could not quite understand, yet it was there, nonetheless.

  When Ray didn’t move to get out, she said, “I can wait outside if you want to go in to sleep.”

  “No, no.” He jerked the door open and swung his legs out. “You come on in. I think I may have gone a bit overboard tonight, truth be told. I’ll get us some coffee.”

  “I can’t drink coffee this late, but water will be fine.”

  She followed Ray as he stumbled up the steps and clutched the screen door before yanking it open. He found the light switch and the room came to life, dogs jumping and begging for his attention before taking note of their new visitor. Carrie stood uncertainly while they milled about her, sniffing, then she doled out pats to the entreating canines.

  Released at last, she offered, “Your keys, before I forget.” She held them out to him as he faced her, regarding her a moment before taking them, nodding, and heading into the kitchen, the dogs at his heels.

  “They’re Labs, aren’t they?” she called as she took in the masculine air of the room.

  A living room or front parlor, she didn’t know what it would be called out here, it displayed no sign of feminine life, no mark of a woman’s hand ever having been there. A regulation Elk head—or was it Moose?—with antlers gave her a glassy-eyed look of superiority from above the fireplace, while a mounted bass on another wall pompously assessed her, countered only by the noncommittal glance of a deer. Braided rugs on the floor lent some fading color to an otherwise brown room. But two things surprised her: a stack of newspapers by the sofa included the pink of the Financial Times, and a virtual parade of photographs went around the room.

  She started a tour of them, carefully lifting each photo, replacing it, studying the next.

  Ray re-entered from the kitchen and handed her a glass of water, the dogs milling around him.

  “You have another son,” she stated, remembering his comment about the choice of Arab horses to breed. “Does he live here, too?”

  He shifted away from her, almost tripping on one of the Labs who let out a squeak of protest. “I better close them in.” He bent to grab one by the scruff of its neck and herded them into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him before he faced her.

  Carrie held out a picture of two boys, the elder in army fatigues with a younger Jake smiling widely.

  Ray reached out and gently took the photo from her. “Had another son,” he said quietly as he put the snapshot back on the shelf. “Had.”

  She turned to him and knew, saw him standing there shaking slightly in his pain and anguish. As if by some form of osmosis, some unleashed intuition, she understood his story, grasped Ray, comprehended who he was. Yet, “I’m sorry,” was all she could say as she moved to let him have his private grief, tears already swimming in the lagoon-dark eyes.

  Carrie let the screen door close quietly behind her and sat on the steps, the cool glass still in her hands. Peering up at the canopy of heaven, she suddenly experienced a sense of being so small, infinitesimal; it was as if the world loomed over her, spreading out from the one axis of her being. Rather than celestial entities in the infinity of space above her, to Carrie, the stars were holes in the fabric, entries to the endless expanse beyond, gateways to other worlds of which she would never be a part. The lights inside switched off and, for a moment, it appeared as if Ray had gone to bed.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice came through the screen. The words were hoarse with drink and pain. “I… Can I join you?”

  “Of course.”

  He came out and carefully lowered himself onto the step, the coffee in his hand slopping slightly over the side.

  “Don’t burn yourself.”

  He set the mug down and stretched his legs forward, hands coming to rest on his thighs. “Robbie died in Afghanistan,” he started. “He was my eldest. It was five years ago, you know, and the pain is as fresh now as it was then. You never expect…you never think your kids are gonna go before you and all. And then Jake went off to Iraq, well, see…” He hesitated. “I told them, I said you take, but you give back. That’s what we do, we give back to our country, we serve. Robbie, well, Robbie just wanted to breed his horses—those damn Arabs meant everything to him, but I told him he had the…” There was a gulp of tears fighting to come out, the assault on a man’s pride he tried to cover. “I told him he had the rest of his life to breed those horses. I said every man in this family has served his country, and he wasn’t going to shame me, he wasn’t going to be the exception.”

  “You served in Viet Nam, didn’t you?” Carrie lowered her voice to the whisper of a secret.

  “Yeah. Right at the very end. I was lucky, I guess. Got over there just about in time to get out.” Ray tapped his hat back, then must have thought better of it and took it off, laying it carefully on the step beside him. Strands of damp hair lay plastered down the side of his face, but he made no attempt to push them back.

  “Do you know how… I mean…”

  “He was on guard duty, him and another kid. Some truck driven by them suicide bombers came at them laden with bombs, trying to get into the compound where all his buddies were. ’Course the two of them could’ve run away, could’ve stepped out of the way, but that’s not what you do, is it? They blasted the truck to stop it, blew it up outside to save the lives of the men inside that compound. Now, his mama has his Distinguished Service Cross and the flag that draped his coffin, as if that would make amends.” Ray cleared his throat, a sob mixing with his speech and anger. “But you know,” he went on, covering his mouth as if it would stop the tears, “you know it was my damn fault. I mean, what the hell difference would it have made if Robbie hadn’t gone, hadn’t of served? And what the hell are we doing there anyway? I mean, Viet Nam, Afghanistan, Iraq, what the hell are we fighting in those countries for? It’s meaningless, it’s just dang foolishness is what it is, kids dying for nothing...nothing at all.”

  “Ray, you don’t believe that. Of course it made a difference, his serving. It made a big difference. You don’t believe that it was meaningless for one second.”

  “Well. Tell you the truth, I don’t know what the hell I believe anymore. I criticized you for wanting to do the right thing, that business ’bout the designated driver an’ all, but, well, I guess it’s me. I just always tried, you know, I tried to do the right thing, but it never seemed t
o come out straight.”

  “Of course it has,” Carrie assured him. “If Robbie hadn’t gone you would—”

  “Oh, I know. I would’ve been angry with him for the rest of my life, been thinking what son of mine could do that, stay back. I’d’ve been shamed.” He sighed and glanced over as if noticing for the first time she was there. “I married Leigh Anne ’cause she was pregnant—that’s what you did, the right thing. You get a girl in the family way, you damn well married her. I’d been a kid when I went to Nam, and when I got back, I was quite a hell-raiser. Went all over the place, doing the rodeos, workin’ ranches. Then I got back here, and I was just taking over the ranch. Hardly had a dime to my name in those days, but you did the right thing. Well…” He ran a finger along the line of a crack in one of the steps. A hint of his earlier humor flashed on his face. “Is this when you New York folks say, ‘Thanks for sharing?’” he quipped.

  Carrie let herself laugh. “Oh, dear.” She played with some loose hair, thinking of how she had misjudged him earlier, feeling the depth of his character and his sadness. She fixed the curl behind her ear and sat with him, watching lights now moving on the horizon.

  “That might be them.” Ray pointed out as a pair of headlights moved down the ranch road. Then they stopped, disappeared. “Well, I’ll be…”

  “What? Have they stopped?”

  “Seems like...” He hesitated, then said, “I hope Jake is not up to anything with your daughter. He certainly seemed to have an interest in her, shall I say?”

  “Paige.” Carrie sighed. “Paige just lost someone, Ray. I don’t think she’s ready for another relationship just yet. Her fiancé died last year from a very aggressive form of leukemia. She quit law school and all.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. Well…he’s not the sort of boy to force himself. Boy?” He shook his head in admonishment of himself. “Twenty-seven years, I guess he’s a man. Anyway, he’s a real gentle soul is Jake. Except with me, of course. Paige’ll be all right.”

  ****

  “Watch out for the cattle guard.”

  Jake’s warning reached Paige through the darkness as the car bumped and screeched before she brought it to a stop.

  “What’re you doin’? I thought your mother was waiting?”

  She didn’t know what she was doing. The memory of his gentleness at the dancehall, his comprehension of her, ran through her mind. And then there was the feel of his body beneath her hand, the heat that had reached her, the strength.

  Paige sat a moment longer, still gripping the wheel, before facing Jake. She stared at him for several seconds before reaching across and running her finger down the outline of his chin, a solitary tear finding its way down her cheek. He wasn’t Steven, no, but Steven wasn’t here, Steven wasn’t anywhere; Steven would never hold her, or kiss her cheek or make love to her again.

  Jake extended his own hand, and with his thumb, wiped the trace away, then he leaned across and kissed her, gently at first, but more pressing, deeper as it went on. She clasped him tightly, need overtaking her as his hand slipped up under her blouse to undo her bra, his tongue tasting the sweetness of her mouth...

  Just as suddenly as she had yielded to him, she thrust him back. “I can’t. I can’t! Stop, stop it, Jake.” She shoved him away, protecting herself by turning her face to the window.

  “What? You…I thought…”

  “I know what you thought. I’m sorry.”

  “What? Are you some sort of tease or something?” Confusion brought his voice to a higher pitch. “I thought…you stopped the car and all.” He collapsed back against the window, anger and disappointment coloring his voice.

  “Yes, yes I know. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  She reached backward to re-hook her bra, then leaned back against the cool of the window to stare at him. Jake held his head, frustration forcing his breaths in ragged beats.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I never should have…” She waited to contain herself, to try to explain. “I had a fiancé. He died. He died last year and…I thought…” She spoke in faltering bursts, finding the words from somewhere deep inside her, as if speaking a foreign language she would never quite master. More quietly, hardly a whisper, she said, “I thought if you made love to me, if we made love, perhaps...I don’t know, it would wipe out the pain for a bit. It would make me feel…better. But I can’t. I’m not ready. I’m sorry.”

  Jake ran his fingers through the turf of his scalp. In the confines of the car, there was tension in the air like a thunderstorm receding.

  “How did he die?” he asked gently.

  She shuddered, tears streaming now, anguish engulfing her. “Leukemia.”

  “Jeez,” was all he said. He cleared the mist from his side window and looked up toward the house. “I lost my brother five year ago. I guess it’s not the same but, then again, you lose someone you love, it messes you up. Sure as hell messed up my parents.”

  “Did they divorce because of it?”

  “Well, sort of. Dad took to drink and my mother…I guess you could say she started running around. Lord, parents, huh?”

  Paige grimaced. “Yeah. My mother found my bottle of sleeping pills next to my bed and immediately presumed the worst. I’d quit law school to be with Steven, and then moved back home. The doctor had given them to me, but she immediately assumed I planned to kill myself.”

  “And did you?”

  Jake’s expression was questioning, with curiosity, but she also saw fear there of what the answer might be.

  The query hung in the air between them like a bad odor before she replied, “I guess I sort of considered it. But it’s not what Steven would have wanted. He would have wanted me to continue, to stay at school.”

  “Will you? Go back to school I mean.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know if I’m ready yet, ready to see my friends, ready to concentrate on classes and write papers.”

  Jake glanced again toward the ranch house. “My dad blames himself for Robbie’s death. He doesn’t know…” He stopped, his gaze traveling from Paige back up to the house. “The lights are off. That’s strange.” He gave her a rather mischievous wink. “You don’t suppose they’re…you know…”

  “Oh, lord, no. Not my mother.” She snorted in denial. “She’s, like, afraid of men.”

  “I don’t suppose my dad could get it up anyway, what with the drink and all.” He waited a moment as if assuring himself she was better now, then leaned across and kissed her softly. “We better go.”

  Paige started up the car once more, the headlights spotlighting the road ahead. “What is it he doesn’t know?” she asked as she drove away.

  “Who doesn’t know?”

  “You said your father doesn’t know. What is it he doesn’t know?”

  “That it wasn’t his fault,” Jake replied slowly, like a guilty prisoner under cross-examination. “Robbie’s death—it wasn’t my dad’s fault. It was mine.”

  Chapter Three

  “Oh, my word, is that you, Ray Ryder? What in heaven’s name brings you out to the Lone Star?” Doris McKay extended her meaty arm across the front desk to give him her paw. “And are those for me? Goodness, this must be my lucky day.”

  Ray had been carrying his bunch of flowers out in front of him like a bride going down the aisle. He quickly pointed them south and extended his own hand to the smiling ranch manager, shaking her hand being something akin to squeezing a small pillow.

  “Hey there, Doris. How’re you doin’?” He purposefully ignored her remark about the flowers. “Long time and all that.”

  “Long time? Long time? Heck, I haven’t seen you since…I don’t know when. When was it? You recall?”

  He scratched his head in a pantomime of thinking. “Mighta been when you and Hank come over to see a couple of my Arabs for sale. That’d be it.”

  “Yeah, well…” She eyed the flowers again, waiting for an explanation.

  “Say, you got a lady and her daughter fr
om back east name of Bennett staying with you, haven’t you?”

  Doris leaned across the expanse of desk in a confidential manner. “Famous author,” she whispered, her hand covering her mouth. “Puttin’ us all in her next book.”

  “That so?” He attempted to act as if he believed her. “Thing is, lady sort of did me a small favor last night, and I’d like to thank her, so I come on over to give her these. You think she’s around at the moment?”

  The hefty manager straightened into a professional manner and eyed him sternly. “Really shouldn’t be giving out any information on my guests, Ray. But seeing as how it’s you,” she went on with a softer tone, “and you promise to stay on for our Saturday evening dance starting in just a short while, well, they’re over in Cabin Three. Now, you make sure you knock and don’t go peeking in any windows.”

  Ray nodded his thanks and was gone before she could continue.

  ****

  Carrie stood peering through the screen door, just swallowing a last mouthful of chicken when two things went through her mind. The first, which made her giggle, was that Ray, standing and holding a bouquet of flowers out in front of him, resembled a young suitor come to take a girl to the prom. The second was how really pleased she was to see him.

  “Come in, come in,” she said, trying to clear any residue of sauce from her mouth. “What a surprise.”

  “Yeah, well...” He stepped inside the cabin and glanced briefly around.

  A minor wave of embarrassment hit her as she became aware of the various small items of clothing hanging on chair backs and off wardrobe doors, while a brief glimpse into the bedroom revealed one neat bed and one with a mess of makeup and cosmetics strewn over it.

  Paige was at the small dining table reading and eating; she glanced up at Ray inquisitively.

  “Hey, Paige,” he greeted, removing his hat.

  Carrie sensed the sudden nervousness, as if he wished he hadn’t come after all, so she offered, “It’s good to see you. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “Oh, I don’t want to be any trouble, Carrie. I just came over to make a peace offering and apologize for my idiocy last night. I guess I sort of did go over the deep end with the drink and all.” He held out the flowers, the cellophane crinkling in his hand.