“Not worth botherin’ over,” Chancey muttered to himself, as he climbed out of Layla with his new laptop. He had a date this afternoon. One he’d been thinking about for the last few days.
He’d been horny as hell ever since he and Seamus talked. It was like being a teenager again, hard at the most damn inconvenient times. Didn’t need to be getting a boner while tagging cattle in the squeeze chute, especially not with a group of guests keeping watch. ’Course, Chancey didn’t want to blow his load all over the camera the second he saw Seamus again either, so he’d rubbed more than a few out. In the shower, in Layla, under the gnarled, leafless tree down by the pond where he skinny-dipped. Every time he came, it made him want Seamus back in Kansas more.
God, they’d wasted so much time.
<<< >>>
Chancey wondered if maybe he should practise stripping in front of the mirror—or would that be too much? Seamus had seemed to enjoy what Chancey’d shown him when they talked a few days ago, but he hadn’t really known what the hell he was doing. Maybe a little bit of prep work wouldn’t be a bad idea. Most people spent time dressing up for a date; he could spend some time dressing down.
Chancey had almost decided to go for it, when he heard a noise like a cat howling and stopped in the living room.
“Dee?”
She’d been lying on the couch, but at the sound of his voice, she popped up, tears streaming down her face, and flung herself into his arms. Chancey laid down his laptop and instinctively encircled her, protecting her from anything that would harm his baby.
“Shh, darlin’, it’s all right. What’s going on?”
He smoothed back her hair, which was wet in patches from her tears.
His question only made her cry louder, and her skinny body shook with the force of her sobs. If it was one of the high school boys he’d seen sniffin’ around her the other day, he was gettin’ his rifle.
“Did those boys hurt you, Dee?”
“What?” Her voice was almost completely lost in his shoulder. She pulled back. Her face was a nasty mess. Tears streaming from her red-rimmed eyes, snot running out of her nose, her lips swollen and pink—she cried like her momma, and it was not a pretty sight. “N-n-no!”
It was almost another five minutes before he’d calmed her down enough that they could talk, and when he tried to get up to grab some tissue for her face, she clung to him and refused to let him go alone. Eventually, he helped her to the bathroom, sat her down on the closed toilet, and ran warm water over a washcloth.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Dee took the washcloth and scrubbed her face with it, sighing heavily.
“Me and Stills are done.”
Chancey leaned back against the wall.
“What do you mean?”
For a moment Dee was silent, and then the tears welled again and broke, fat and pearl-like, rolling down her cheeks. “We got into a fight about someone she likes who’s so basic. And I told her they’re basic. And she said well, at least they aren’t a douche like Nate—”
“Who’s Nate?”
“My boyfriend,” Dee said quickly, as if this detail wasn’t important at all. “And I told her to go to hell and she said, ‘I’ll see you there.’ And then I told her I didn’t want to ride with her anymore and—” Her voice cracked and broke. “A-and she said she was the real talent of the team and everyone knows that being the heeler is the hardest part and that it’s her roping that gets us buckles and that while I’m in hell, she’s gonna get a new header and I…I said that it’s my speed that wins the buckles and she can suck my cock—”
“Deidra Ann!”
“Well, she can,” she said, but she looked away, embarrassed. “And…and…then I came home and now we’re not friends and we’re not riding partners and I hate her and…”
The loud sobbing came on quick and hard and she buried her face once more in her washcloth.
In the kitchen, the phone began to peal for attention.
“You going to be OK if I go get that?”
Dee nodded, still crying with her face hidden.
Jesus F’ing Christ. Save him from thirteen-year-olds and their drama-filled lives. And when did Dee get such a mouth on her? He definitely didn’t say shit like that around her. When she calmed down, they were going to have a talk about some things—mainly this Nate kid. Boyfriend? She was way too young to be dating, and he didn’t like that she hadn’t mentioned Nate before or brought him ’round the house so Chancey could meet him. (Even though ‘meet’ really meant stare the little shit down.)
Even though Chancey took the call in the kitchen, he could still hear Dee’s faint sobs in the back bathroom.
“Clearwater residence.”
“Ah, Chan-cey. Glad I caught you.” He’d know that drawl anywhere. Mrs. Charlene Stills was junior, collegiate, and professional rodeo royalty, Miss Greenwood County, 1996, an MBA, and in addition to coaching the girls, she also ran a successful real estate firm. Between her own ribbons, sashes, crowns, buckles, medals, and the ones her daughter had earned for herself, every inch of the Stills’s house was covered in glitz. Helluva sight.
“Hello, Charlene, I assume you’re calling about the girls?”
Chancey prepared himself with an apology for the suck my cock comment and other general nastiness that had come out of Dee’s mouth, but Charlene broke in first.
“I want to say how very, very sorry I am about Quinn’s unsportsmanlike behaviour. She was an absolute wreck when she came home. Tears and Kleenex all over the place.”
“Dee, too.”
“She told me what happened. What she said about gettin’ a new header. I coulda slapped her be-hind—if I ever raised my hand to my babies, which I do not. I did, however, remind her, quite firmly I assure you, that we have put years of practice into buildin’ this team, and you don’t throw your partner away like she’s an empty sack of flour over one silly misunderstandin’ about boys.”
“Right.”
There was something about this apology that didn’t sit right with Chancey. In the first place, it was unnecessary. It was a spat between two thirteen-year-old girls. They would make up without interference from their parents—probably before the weekend was over even. And second, while it was true neither of the girls should have discounted the other’s talents, Mrs. Stills’s call seemed like nothing more than a desperate attempt—not to help salvage the girls’ friendship—but to keep her star team ropers together, winning buckles to add to the hoarder’s nest.
“Of course we hope that Dee still wants to come over and spend the weekend with us?” He could almost see that perfectly white pageant smile.
He thought about Dee sobbing in the bathroom and doubted she was going to want to go anywhere until she was damn good and ready, which…fuck, there went his date with Seamus. But he wasn’t going to push his daughter out the door when she was an emotional wreck: not to jack off with Shay, and not for the preservation of the Clearwater/Stills Roping Team.
“We’ll see,” Chancey said noncommittally. “But I am sorry for the ugly things my daughter said. I didn’t raise her with a mouth like that.”
Mrs. Stills brushed off his apology. “You’ll tell her we want her over for dinner, right? Remember now, the girls enter a new age bracket next year and we can’t lose even a second of practice.”
Chapter Nine:
Be Counted
For once it wasn’t raining, which was about the only good thing Seamus had to say of the evening. Ten years in the US and he’d forgotten about all that rain which gave Ireland its rich green hue. Pennsylvania: he remembered the snow more than anything, although the humidity was quite something, or so he’d thought before Kansas. There, the only thing that seemed to come down from the heavens was the baking heat of the sun. Oh, and the tornados, of course, but he didn’t remember them so much. Too destructive, out of control… Selective memory: it was a wonderful thing. Now he needed to figure out how to change the channel, tune out Chancey-feckin
g-Clearwater.
With some force, Seamus slung open the door of The Village Inn, and for a moment all conversation ceased. Marie, paused mid-pint-pour, slowly turned her head in his direction and looked him up and down, one eyebrow rising in both disapproval and query. Seamus attempted a carefree smile.
“Must be the wind,” he excused, pushed the door to—gently—and sidled over to the bar, with a touch of swagger to offset the whirlwind whipping around his heart.
Marie resumed beer-pulling. “I thought you had a date tonight, Seamus,” she said.
“So did I.”
“Ah.” She finished serving the man in front of her, who picked up his pint and walked past Seamus, giving him a sympathetic squeeze of the arm. “Your usual or stronger?” Marie asked.
“Load me up with a JD.”
Marie collected a glass and measured out a double shot of bourbon, calling back over her shoulder, “She left you standing, then, did she?”
“Kind of,” Seamus confirmed vaguely.
“Oh, well.” Marie put the glass down in front of him and drew breath, her face set in one of those expressions that indicate placations will be forthcoming. It was diminished in an instant, when Seamus knocked back the whiskey in one swig and slammed the glass on the bar. Cushioned by the bar towel, it landed with a muted thunk that did little to appease.
“Another when you’re ready, please, Marie.”
“Ah, right, so. You think that’s wise?” She was pouring another as she asked.
“Yep,” Seamus confirmed curtly. Another double shot downed, he shoved the glass towards Marie. She shook her head.
“No way, Seamus Mal—”
“Don’t say it, Marie!” Seamus growled angrily, shoulders rolling, ready for a scrap. Marie glowered at him, and he reared at first, but then common sense kicked in, and he backed down immediately. “Sorry. I’m out of line.”
Marie soundlessly shook her head, which was far worse than getting a full bollocking, yelling and all.
Another customer came to the bar, giving Seamus time to cool off and get over his shame. Hotheaded as he was—and he blew steam on at least a twice-weekly basis—he couldn’t believe he’d shouted at Marie. Christ, it was only a couple of months back he’d stopped calling her ‘Aunty Marie’, and even that was under duress. It felt disrespectful to call her by her name, because while they weren’t related, Marie and his mam had grown up together; their families had moved from Limerick to Omagh within months of each other. She had always been more of an aunty to them than their real aunt, who went over to Liverpool around the same time they emigrated to the States. They also had an uncle on their mam’s side and an aunty on their dad’s, but they weren’t that close a family.
“Right, young Seamus, come with me,” Marie hollered, pointing towards the cellar stairs and waiting for him to do her bidding. Like a big floppy teenager, he humphed and huffed his way to the other side of the bar, catching a back-hander around the head as he preceded her down the stairs into the dark cellar.
“What needs doing?” he asked, blinking as she switched on the light and temporarily blinded him. He felt very vulnerable, which he supposed was probably the point.
“Get that Guinness changed for me, Seamus, will ye?”
“Sure.” He grabbed the lip of the closest in the line of new kegs and roll-walked it into position.
“While you’re at it, you can tell me what’s eating you.”
Seamus bit down on his bottom lip, keeping all of his attention on dealing with the keg. He did need to talk it out, before he turned it into something it wasn’t, but…it was Marie, and he could remember all too well what she’d said about Paddy.
“Now you behave yourself with all those lovely American ladies, won’t ye, fellas?”
“No chance of that, Aunty,” Seamus replied with a cheeky grin. She gave his ear a flick.
“Who cares about them?” Paddy muttered under his breath and scooted off to fetch the dog from next door’s garden.
“What’d he say?” Marie asked.
“He said he’s not interested in girls.”
“Well, he’s still wet behind the ears. He only cares about that daft dog, but he’ll soon catch you up, won’t ye, Paddy?” she called as he came back, pulling the guilty-looking red setter along behind him.
“I don’t like girls, Aunty Marie.”
“Ye will when ye ready, son.”
“I doubt it.”
“You’re not thinking of joining the priesthood, are ye?”
“Ha, no! I like boys.”
“Y-ye…” Marie was speechless. Paddy shrugged at Seamus and went on his way, Rusty the setter still in tow.
“I miss Rusty,” Seamus mused aloud. He secured the cufflink on the Guinness keg and wiped his hands on his pants.
“Rusty? What made you think of him?”
“I was just remembering, Aunty.”
“He was a menace.”
“Aye, they both were,” Seamus agreed, smiling fondly as more memories flooded in. Scamp—the setter they had before Rusty—was more Seamus’s, and while both dogs were family pets, Paddy and Rusty had been a mischief double act. Rather than put the dog through quarantine, Mam and Dad had decided Rusty would go to live with Marie, and poor Paddy had been distraught to leave him behind. Now that he and Aidan had a house, they were planning on getting a setter of their own.
“I’m going up to Barry’s farm tomorrow to spend some time with that sheepdog of his,” Seamus said.
“Ah, so that’s why you were thinking of Rusty?”
“Partly, I suppose. What you said the other day…” Seamus sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, gripping onto his hair and searching the cellar ceiling for some inspiration, or courage. He glanced at Marie and attempted a smile.
“You’re suffering, aren’t ye, Seamus?”
He nodded. “Very much so. And it’s really stupid. I’m so annoyed with myself.”
“Why? What’ve you done?”
“Made a huge deal out of a wee small thing.” He shrugged, and Marie gave him a look that asked for more information. He wasn’t sure he wanted to give it. “OK, so, I met someone in Kansas, and we had a bit of a thing going on before I left. I say ‘a thing’—it was one night. And I, er, kind of—”
“Ran away?” Marie offered.
“Yeah. I thought it meant nothing to them, so…” Seamus took a deep breath. He could feel the admission filtering through, forcing him to face up to the truth. “I fell in love with them, Marie, but…there’s an ex and a daughter, and we worked together, so I didn’t even say goodbye.”
“This is your old boss lady, isn’t it?”
Seamus laughed, in defeat rather than joy. “Baring my soul in a beer cellar. What the hell’s become of me?”
“There are plenty worse places I can think of to do it. The bottom of a bottle for one.”
“Aye, fair dos.” Seamus held up his hands. “I’m sorry I lost my rag before.” He took a step towards Marie, and she beckoned him closer for a hug.
“Apology accepted,” she said, giving him a good, tight squeeze and rubbing his back, like a mother winding a baby. They stayed that way until someone in the bar rang the last-orders bell to garner her attention, and she released Seamus. “I need to get back upstairs.”
“I’ll stay and give ye a hand, Marie.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I’ve nothing better to do now,” he said, already on his way up the stairs.
“All right,” Marie conceded. She followed him. “So, she’s been back in touch, then?”
“Kind of.”
“She’s called and you ignored her?”
“No. She hasn’t called.”
“You called her?”
Now Seamus laughed for real. They were almost at the top of the stairs, and he needed to get it said quickly. He stopped at the door and took his phone from his pocket, loading up photos from the rodeo in Salina he’d stopped by before he left Kansas.
He handed the phone over, and Marie squinted at the screen.
“Is this—oh!” She moved the phone closer and then further away, frowning at the image, zooming in and out. Someone rang the bell for a second time. “He’s a dish, isn’t he?” she said, giving Seamus’s phone back, at the same time passing him and opening the door.
“That all you’ve got to say?” he asked.
“For now.”
<<< >>>
Seamus locked the door behind the last customers and took a couple of deep breaths in preparation. Marie was stacking clean glasses and continued to do so as she spoke.
“So he’s the one with daughter and the ex?”
“Aye.”
“Ex-boyfriend?”
“Ex-wife.”
“Right, so…he’s—”
“Like me,” Seamus finished.
Marie paused, glass in hand, and looked him in the eye. “I don’t know. You Williams boys…” she said.
“We do it on purpose, you know.” He grinned.
“I sometimes wonder. So what happened?”
“Chancey was supposed to call me this evening for an, er, online date, but he stood me up.”
“Did you try calling him?”
“No. I don’t want to…”
“Come across as too needy?”
“Not that so much. He’s got Dee—his daughter—to worry about. Maybe something’s happened.”
“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there, son?”
Seamus nodded.
“Right. Well, thanks for your help tonight, Seamus. You get yourself home.”
“Is that it?”
“What were you expectin’?”
“When Paddy told you—”
“He made me open my eyes to the big wide world outside of Omagh.”
“Oh, right. OK. So…” Seamus was perplexed. Maybe ‘coming out’ wasn’t such a big deal after all.
“Besides, you’re still wee Seamy Mal—”
Seeds of Tyrone Box Set Page 27
