Dances of the Heart

by Andrea Downing

  “Goodness.” She considered this. “If I did things to please my mother, I’d never get anything done for myself.”

  “You were in law school, didn’t that please her?”

  “Oh, hell, yes. She came from a family of lawyers—father, brothers, husband, just about every man she’s gone out with. But I don’t mean that. I mean, the small things. I think I stopped thinking about doing things to please her the day she shipped me off to boarding school. She was no longer my conscience. I stopped hearing her voice in my head. Took up smoking behind the bicycle shed and had sex with just about anyone with a penis. I didn’t stop loving her, which is probably what she thinks, but I started to be…independent. You should try it some time.”

  “Jeez…” Jake rested his head against the back of the sofa. “You think I’m not independent. Interesting. You sure are quick to judge, Paige. You’ve known me all of, what, forty-eight hours? And already you have this idea in your head—”

  “Don’t you have an idea of me? Don’t you think you know who I am?”

  “I guess.” He clinked the ice in his glass, then slugged back another gulp. “So, am I another prick on your journey to full independence?”

  Paige put down her drink on the side table and straddled Jake, pushing him back against the sofa. “Not at all,” she whispered. “You’re an interesting diversion…a very interesting diversion.”

  She sat for a moment, studying him, thinking how beautiful he was, actually beautiful, with eyes like spring hyacinths. She bent in to kiss him. His hand on her back pushed her deeper, then clasped her, held her, wanted her.

  She jerked back. “You know…I need you to know…this is not going to go anywhere. I am never going to be some cowboy’s girlfriend in Texas. It’s not who I am. I need you to know this is, if anything, a one night stand, a distraction for me. Nothing more. It’s not that you’re…prick of the month. It’s just…” What was it? A one night stand to relieve her tensions? An interlude?

  Loneliness swept through her and she sat back, shimmied over to sit next to him again, looking straight ahead. “I need a living, breathing body. I need to feel alive.”

  Jake leaned toward her, his hand reaching then holding her face toward his. He stared at her for a moment. “No, Paige, it’s not that you need to feel alive. It’s that you need to know you are alive.”

  She peered at him, considered asking to go home, resisted—not him, but her own growing need. It flowed through her, heating her body, filling her as if desire were a breath. The need for fulfillment jagged at her memory.

  Paige reached her hand out and brought him in closer, let his mouth capture hers. He pulled her back to straddle him once more as his hands slipped under her camisole and lifted it over her head before unclipping her bra. Her need was overcoming her now, her mouth unwilling to stop his assault as Jake’s tongue found its way and discovered her sensibilities. And then his arms enclosed her, and he stood, her legs wrapping themselves around him as he carried her into his bedroom.

  She could not remember later the minutiae of how their clothes came off or how he had maneuvered her to the bed, but she would always recall Jake’s tenderness. Whether or not he was sorely aware he was meant to be a diversion from the ache of her loss, she didn’t know, but he loved her as a first lover might, with gentleness, a lightness of touch as his fingers roamed her body, embracing the soft curves of her breasts. His lips made their way down to the enflamed center of her being. And when he entered her, Paige let herself go, melt with each movement of Jake within her.

  Another atom of her loss was left behind.

  ****

  Carrie had let herself go, no doubt surprising Ray with bursts of laughter in response to his jokes, and not nagging him further about the extra drink he’d had. Now, she stood awkwardly, leaning back against the cabin door, feeling like a young girl on a first date with parents no doubt waiting—and listening—inside. A breeze carried with it the sounds of the night, the cicada choir and horses whinnying in a distant field. She remembered the feel of being in his arms, the revelation of strength in abeyance, the solidness of his body against her hand, and the black eyes that had their own life.

  Ray stood back, those eyes catching the light that hung over the cabin steps. “I guess you’re going back tomorrow, or is it Monday?” he asked.

  “Monday.” She waited, then continued, “I thought maybe—”

  “Maybe the two of you might like to come on over for a barbecue,” he said at the same time. “I mean, I know you’re supposedly…no doubt are…doing work, but—”

  “We’d love to,” Carrie broke in. She straightened, her gaze still on this Texan, this rancher, who had somehow broken down her defenses. “What time?”

  “Oh. Any time you’re ready. We can go for a ride, if you like.”

  “And will I be riding Widowmaker or Butt Buster?” she jested, remembering the old jokes from the dude ranch cowboys.

  He laughed. “No, they’re for amateurs. We’ll be givin’ you Diablo.” He stood awkwardly for a moment. “You think you can find your way again? It was dark when you took me home.”

  “I’ll find it. And if I get lost, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Okay, well then.” He hesitated before turning back to the path with a wave. “See you tomorrow then.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  In the privacy of the bedroom, curtains drawn against the intruding night and her daughter still not back, Carrie stood naked in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the closet. Still slender, or at least reasonably so, she tried to envisage herself as a man might now see her. It had been four years since her last intimate relationship, and time had not stood still. No, indeed not—it had advanced like an avenging army.

  Her skin, once firm, had a certain flabbiness to it around her stomach, the loss of elasticity giving even her slender frame a different outline than before. The nipples of her small breasts pointed toward the floor accusingly, skin in the bend of her elbow and the crux of her armpit had begun to look like elephant hide, and her neck, while still reasonably firm, bore sinuous markings. Turning sideways to further assess herself, Carrie noted her legs were beginning to look like a road map, an ordinance survey, only instead of mountains and rivers, it was veins, bruises and spider nevus. A smattering of skin tags and light age spots completed the unwholesome picture.

  Taking a deep breath to quell the self-pity, she lifted a nightdress to slither over her head and promptly burst into tears just as she heard the front door bang open.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” moaned Paige. “What the hell is the matter with you?” She stood in the bedroom doorway for a moment before bouncing down on the bed beside Carrie and drooping her head onto her mother’s shoulder. “Have a fight with Ray?”

  “No, no.” She shuddered with her misery, sniffed and then threw a tentative arm around her daughter. “No fights, no arguments. Danced all night, and he behaved like a perfect gentleman.”

  “Ah.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? ‘Ah?’”

  “Well. Maybe you were hoping for something else?”

  “Hardly. How was Jake?”

  Paige gathered herself and stood. “Not the perfect gentleman…definitely not the perfect gentleman.”

  Carrie took in the slightly smudged eye make-up, the disheveled hair, the pinpoints of black in her daughter’s gray eyes, and decided not to comment. If she had made a connection with Jake, had enjoyed herself, so much the better. Paige was her own person now, not a child, and she needed this encounter.

  Carrie eased herself back on the bed and glided between the turned down sheets. Paige gave her a satisfied grin and headed into the bathroom, then came back out, throwing her camisole off over her head.

  “So, what were you bawling about?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Aging I guess. I had a good, hard, long look in the mirror and didn’t like what I saw.”

  “You’re an idiot,” stated Paige, heading back
to the bathroom, before facing her once again. “That was what you were crying about? Aging? Mother, for goodness sake, think of the alternative for once. Not only that, but you’re the best-preserved woman I know. Look at Diana Shawcross, botoxed into a positive rictus of plastic expression.”

  Carrie sighed. “It’s not vanity. I just can’t…face someone. I can’t start all over and show myself like that, have someone look at me. And then, of course, I’d be wondering what they were thinking, wondering if they were disgusted.”

  “Well, then, you should definitely have gone to bed with Ray and seen how it all worked out, because Lord only knows you won’t be seeing him again anyway.” She made her way back into the bathroom.

  “He’s invited us over for a barbecue tomorrow,” Carrie called after her. “And I’ve accepted.”

  Paige stuck her head back out the door. “Whatever possessed you to do that?”

  ****

  Driving back to the ranch after dropping off Paige, nothing but the green lights of the dashboard and country music to accompany him, Jake’s mind dwelt on the girl, how unpredictable and detached she was, a chameleon, but never a snake shedding its skin.

  A snake? Hardly.

  She wore her beauty uneasily, as if it weren’t there, as if it were trivial. Yet that was part of her charisma, her detachment from everything and everybody, even herself. That and the sense he had of her vulnerability. Had she always been like that, or was it a consequence of her fiancé’s death?

  Turning down the ranch road, the pervasive blackness was not broken by lights on the horizon. Momentary panic set in. If his father were back, he would surely have left on the outside light for Jake. But as he pulled up to the parking space in front of the house, there was the old pickup, no lights, no motor on. The dogs had started yowling at his approach, but a shout of “shut up” got them to stop with a solitary whine.

  Slamming his car door behind him, Jake started toward the house before catching sight of his father sitting in the dark of the cab, the presumably empty flask being twirled between his hands like a giant worry bead. Moonlight glinted through the windows on the silver of the container and threw a spark of reference, silhouetting his father against the darkness. Jake tapped on the glass then opened the cab door.

  “Hey, pardner,” his dad said. “You have a good night? You go dancing?”

  He ignored the questions. “Come on, Dad, what are you doin’ out here? Why aren’t you inside?” He watched as his father swung his body around with a grunt and forced himself out. “You’re drunk again, aren’t you?”

  “No-o-o, I am not.” There was the denial of the accusation. “I just had a flask full, hardly enough Jack to get a man drunk, Jake.” He started to the house, stumbling on the steps for a moment.

  “Hardly?” Jake caught his father by the elbow and yanked open the screen door. “You mean to tell me you didn’t have any drinks at the Lone Star?”

  “Two.”

  But he was lying.

  “I was on my best behavior with Carrie watching me like a damned hawk.”

  He flicked the light switch and the room came to life; the three dogs suddenly rose as one with small whines from their quiet wait. “And you didn’t, maybe, stop over at Mulligan’s on the way home…or any other bar?”

  His father took a deep breath and faced him. “Listen. I’ve done fine these four years without you here to tell me what I can and cannot do, you got that? So, let’s just leave things be, son. I managed before you got home, and before Miz Carrie Bennett arrived in Texas.”

  “Well, you sure were all fired up to go on over and apologize to her. Then I go over to see Paige and I find you’re about to dance the night away. What happened? She step on your toes?”

  “No, she didn’t step on my toes—in any sense of the word.” His father started to gather the dogs toward him and lead them out, Jake at his heels. “Fact is, I invited the two of them over for a barbecue tomorrow.” He stopped as if he were changing his mind, and headed to the kitchen instead.

  Jake stood, hands on hips, as his father reached into the fridge and came out with a beer. He extended it to him, but Jake shook his head and waited as his dad snapped the pull-tab.

  “You invited them over,” he said at last. “That should be interesting.”

  “Well, you seemed pretty keen on Paige. The two of you ran off together like a herd of wild horses was at your heels. You gone off her already?” His dad patted one of the dogs who panted and wagged his tail expectantly.

  “No, I haven’t gone off­­­­—look, there’s nothing between me and Paige, and there’s not going to be anything between me and Paige. You just have to look at her to see that.” Jake headed back toward the living room, his father and the dogs following.

  “What the heck is that supposed to mean now?”

  “It means Paige will go on back to her big city life, and I’ll be but a vague memory of something she didn’t care about in Texas. She as much as told me so.”

  His father stood as if he were trying to think this through, as if it were a calculation he were making in his head. “Well,” he said at last. “Then a barbecue will be part of that vague memory as well.” He headed the dogs down the hall.

  Jake stood a moment before turning off the living room lights, listening to his father’s faint mumbles as he steered the dogs out to the kennel and came back in through the porch. A few minutes later, he stopped for a second outside his father’s door and listened to the predictable sounds of a nighttime routine. But there was no point in pursuing the matter, not the matter of drink, not Carrie, and certainly not Paige.

  Paige.

  He opened the door to his own room, greeted by the rumpled, unmade bed and the smell of sex.

  It was going to be difficult to sleep tonight.

  ****

  Carrie lay in the darkness, Paige’s even breathing interspersed with the occasional sigh letting her know her daughter was sound asleep. No such respite enveloped Carrie; her mind was an open reel replaying the day, rethinking events. First Ray, then Paige, then Ray again. At some point, it struck her that her inability to relax with Ray and her incapacity to help Paige overcome Steven’s death were related, the two were the same vital flaw in her own character. Her sense of failure increased the more she tried to reach out to Paige, to help her, to break through the barrier her daughter had cocooned around herself. And the more that a connection, an empathy, grew for Ray, the more she stood back. Or…

  No, there was no use going over any of this. Barbecue tomorrow, good-bye, farewell, and New York on Monday.

  Then at least one of her problems would be solved.

  Chapter Four

  “Miz Bennett? Paige? You all are not comin’ riding today?”

  Carrie stood by the car, Paige already on the driver side, when Ty Sheldon approached them. Dressed in his wrangler gear, complete with chaps and spurs, he made the perfect picture of the western cowboy. Only the scar running down his cheek left the portrait less than ideal. That and the way his eyes narrowed accusingly at her.

  The beep of the car door sounded as her daughter slid in. “No, I’m afraid not, not today. We’ve been invited over to the Rocking R.”

  “Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that.” Ty studied his boots, as if considering whether to go on. “On two counts.”

  Her hand reached out for the door, but she stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I mean,” he hesitated. “I’m sorry you’re associating with the Ryders. You know, they’re not the best people to be hanging around with.”

  “I…” Carrie stared at the young man, a deep dislike mixing with her discomfort. “I don’t really think it’s any of your business, Ty, whom I choose to mix with.” She opened the door and started to get in.

  “It’s only, you know, Mr. Ryder has a real bad drink problem, and Jake, well, Jake uses drugs and all. You may not want your daughter mixing with that sort.”

  “Well, thanks for the warning, Ty, but I thin
k we’re both big girls and can handle ourselves for one more day.” She heaved the door after her as the engine started up.

  In the side mirror, she watched the wrangler as he sauntered off toward the stables. Aggravation deepened her breathing, along with a trace of uncertainty that he might be right.

  Paige tugged down her seatbelt. “What did he want? What did he say?”

  “He wanted to warn us Jake was a druggie.”

  Her daughter threw back her head and laughed. “Jake is a druggie? Oh, yeah, and I’m Cleopatra. Jake is no more a druggie than you are, Mother.”

  “Well, I don’t know how you can be so very sure. It’s well known a lot of soldiers use drugs to help them get through it all.”

  “That was Viet Nam. Things are different now. Anyway, he’s not the type. I would know. Jake Ryder is as straight as the day is long.”

  Carrie caught Paige’s annoyance with a quick scan. “Okay, I believe you,” she conceded as the car reached the highway. “But he also said Ray was a drinker, and that we do know to be true.”

  “Fine. So he drinks. He’s not an ax murderer. We’re going to a frigging barbecue, and then we’ll never see them again, so I don’t think there is a problem. If you’re concerned, I’ll turn the car around, and you can phone him and cancel. You’re the one who accepted.”

  “I’m not concerned. You asked me what Ty said, not what I thought.” Carrie snapped on the radio, then smacked it off again. “What concerns me, if anything, is Ty butting into our business. He makes me nervous.”

  “Life makes you nervous, Mother. That’s why you live through your books.”

  Her daughter kept her gaze on the road, avoiding her sideways glance. For a moment, Carrie turned to survey the scenery. Texas was in a constant state of drought, but the verdant field, colored with wildflowers, belied that. The clear, bright day should have made anyone happy, but Paige remained restive. Days like this were meant for sharing, yet it wasn’t her, or even Jake, with whom Paige wanted to share this day.