“That’s what I want,” Tori said. “What we had the very first night. I won’t take anything less.”
Delon shook his head. “Well, you’re shit out of luck, because that man was not me.”
“You’re wrong.”
“So you say. But hey, you’re your mother’s daughter—you’ll find a way to be right, and to hell with anyone else.” He turned, then paused, pulling the card out of his pocket and tossing it into the empty wheelbarrow beside the door. “Consider that a token of appreciation for being a great therapist, even though it doesn’t look like you intend to be around long enough to enjoy it.”
She didn’t try to stop him from leaving. He didn’t look back.
Chapter 40
That son of a bitch. Comparing her to her mother. And what was that bullshit about her house? And her cat, for Christ’s sake? As if he had any room to talk, living above a damn shop. When he came back…
Tori drew a deep, shaky breath, unclenching her fists. He would come back. He had to. That’s the way fights worked. You blew up and said things you didn’t really mean. Things like “You are just like your mother!” Then somebody stomped off and after you’d both had time to cool down, someone said they were sorry and the other said “Me too,” and then you talked it out and had crazy-good make-up sex.
She waited an hour. Then two. A whole day. Then another. As the sun set on the second day, she sat on the fence with the cat perched on a post on one side of her and Fudge rubbing his head against her shoulder on the other, and stared down the empty driveway, her heart slowly disintegrating. Obviously, Delon had meant every word. Tears welled up and she slapped at them with an angry hand. Yeah, she’d pushed him. For his own good. Made him better, forced him through to the other side when he didn’t believe it could happen.
And he’d compared her to Claire. Cold. Calculating. Unfeeling. It was like dozens of her mother’s scalpels, slicing into her flesh. A thousand stab wounds to her soul. She’d poured everything into healing him, loving him, trying to show him what he could be—what they could be. Let him inside her head and shown him the person she’d been and the person she hoped to be. Bold, powerful, unstoppable, she’d said. And he’d seen an overbearing bitch who wouldn’t take no for an answer.
On the third day, she wiped away the last tear she was gonna shed for that man and went to clean Fudge’s stall. The first pitchfork full of manure landed on the card Delon had tossed into the wheelbarrow. She fished it out by one corner, stared at it for a long moment, then flung it as hard as she could, sailing it into the back corner of the tack room where it hit the wall and slid down behind the saddle rack while she went back to shoveling shit.
* * *
On the fourth day after the fight, Delon was staring blankly at a computer screen—again—when Gil walked into the dispatcher’s office and shoved a piece of paper under his nose, with a list of scribbled dates and times.
“What’s this?” Delon asked.
“I entered you in Beaumont and Nacogdoches next weekend so you can work the kinks out before Austin.”
Delon snatched the paper out of Gil’s hand, adrenaline and terror cartwheeling through his gut. The first two rodeos were small town deals, he could slide in and out without much notice, but everybody who was anybody would be at Austin—and they’d all be waiting to see if Delon Sanchez had come back a champ or a chump.
He mashed the paper in his fist. “What if I’m not ready?”
Gil hitched an indifferent shoulder. “You can either go to the rodeos or drive over to Dumas and fix whatever mess you made with Tori. Either way, I want your mopey ass out of here.”
For a brief, wild moment, Delon considered crawling back to Tori. Telling her he hadn’t meant what he said—not the way it sounded. But then what? Even if she’d give him another chance, he wasn’t the man she wanted, and she couldn’t have the normal, anonymous life she craved here in the Panhandle. He could hardly blame her for wanting out, considering some of that crap on the Internet—especially since the gossip about the two of them had spread to Wyoming. Geezus. He’d never seen anything so cruel. Regardless of how he was riding, Delon might have to think twice about entering Cheyenne this year. The people there were downright scary.
So there was no point in making that drive over to Dumas. He couldn’t fix anything with Tori. Not permanently. At best, he’d give them time to do more damage. She hadn’t even acknowledged the gift inside the card he’d given—okay, sort of thrown at—her. If nothing else, he’d expected to have it dumped in his driveway. But nope. Not a word. Humiliation scorched through him, imagining her opening that card, rolling her eyes at his attempt at a grand romantic gesture. So lame.
He smoothed out Gil’s paper, studied the dates, and felt the rodeos rushing at him like the reflector posts on an icy curve. His body was ready, but his mind…he wouldn’t truly know until he climbed down into the chute. Odds were he’d crash, but so what? Most likely he’d only injure his pride, and that was already shredded. At least he would be able to tell Beni he’d tried. And if he could find the magic he’d captured for those few brief seconds on Blue Duck, he’d show Tori—
Dammit. He curled his hands into fists and thumped the arms of his chair. Every thought circled back to her. Whether his career lasted a week or another ten years, she’d be a part of every ride, ingrained in every single spur stroke. He couldn’t climb into the Peterbilt or the Freightliner without picturing her in the passenger’s seat. And the sleeper. He would never be free of her again.
Hell, let’s be honest. He never had been.
“There’s a practice session tomorrow night at the ranch,” Gil said. “We still need to do some fine-tuning on your bind.”
Delon jumped up, his chair slamming into the wall. “I’ll go get the rigging.”
Chapter 41
Tori latched Fudge’s stall and leaned her forehead against the gate. “Sorry, buddy. Couldn’t seem to get my head into it tonight.”
“Any chance you’ll snap out of this before we get to Abilene?” Shawnee asked from the barn door.
Tori blew out a weary breath. “Sure. It’s not like it’s the worst thing that ever happened.”
“I guess not.” Shawnee was quiet for a few respectful beats, then she shrugged. “Probably for the best. Delon is planted here for life, and it’s not like you were planning on sticking around long.”
Tori lifted her head, manufacturing a snarl. “Why do people keep saying that?”
“It’s obvious. You’re basically camping in that shitbox of a house and you don’t even own a lawn mower. You might as well have a moving van parked in the front yard.”
You could back your trailer up to the front door and be gone tomorrow.
“Just because I haven’t had the time or inclination to slap on paint and plant daisies—”
The sound of a truck pulling into the driveway cut her off. Shawnee turned around, squinted, then glanced back at Tori. “Then what is that doing here?”
Tori went to peer over Shawnee’s shoulder. What the hell? “They must be lost.”
The pickup had a Johnson’s Nursery logo on the door and a flatbed trailer loaded with two fifteen-foot, fully leafed trees, their roots packed in big burlap bags, and a yellow tractor with a huge circular spade on the front for planting the things. The driver stood beside the truck, looking around dubiously.
Tori strode out to meet him. “Can I help you?”
“I sure hope so.” He shoved an invoice at her. “Guy came in, wouldn’t give his name or a phone number, just this address. Paid cash and said someone would make arrangements for delivery, but that was over a week ago and nobody has called, so the boss said just haul ’em out here.”
“Daddy.” She sighed. He couldn’t resist trying to fix her.
The nursery man frowned. “The guy who came in didn’t look like he could be your daddy. Too yo
ung. And real dark.”
Tori’s heart bumped, and she shot a look at Shawnee. “Delon? But he never said…”
Then she spun around and ran back into the barn. Behind her, she heard Shawnee drawl, “Don’t mind her. She’s a little high-strung…if you know what I mean.”
Tori dropped to the floor and crawled underneath the saddle rack, shoving cinches and stirrups and cobwebs aside until she found the manure-stained envelope. Kneeling on the dusty concrete, she tore at the flap and fumbled out the single sheet of blue construction paper, spreading it on her thigh. Glossy magazine pictures were pasted on it to form a collage—huge, spreading pecan trees shading an emerald green lawn with a pair of Adirondack chairs set beneath. Piles of raw pecans, chocolate chip pecan cookies, and pralines. By the pecan pie, he’d written I’ll make the ice cream. And next to the gooey brownies he’d drawn an arrow and a note that said I kept the recipe for this one, just in case you bake, too, punctuated by a smiley face.
Of course he’d picked the chocolate. She choked on one of those stupid, sobby laughs. Sinking back on her heels, she let her hands fall limp, picturing Delon examining every tree at the nursery to find just the right ones, refusing to give either of their names or phone numbers so news of his purchase wouldn’t show up online before he got out of the parking lot. How much time had he spent standing in front of the magazine rack at whatever store, shuffling through one after another until he found the perfect pictures? Then cutting and pasting and scribbling those notes…
Shawnee reached down and plucked the paper out of her hands. After a long moment, she said, “The guy says those trees won’t produce for at least another couple of years.”
Tori nodded mechanically. I’ll make the ice cream, he’d written. Did he even realize the commitment those pictures and words painted?
“Ya know,” Shawnee drawled, “even Dr. Pickett can see the boy is asking you to put down some roots.”
What do you want from me? he’d asked.
Everything, she’d said, then steamrolled right over him before he could hand it to her.
“Am I cold and manipulative?” she blurted.
Shawnee cocked her head. “Do you want the truth, or something that’ll make you feel better?”
“As if you’d lie to save my feelings.”
“In a heartbeat, if it’ll make you rope better.” Shawnee settled more comfortably against the doorframe. “You can get a little frosty. Manipulative? Nah. Sneaky ain’t your style. You prefer blunt force, but you mean well, and you’re not afraid to say you’re wrong. Why?”
Tori clenched and unclenched her hands against her thighs. “Delon said I’m like my mother.”
Shawnee gagged. “And he walked out of here under his own power?”
“He caught me flat-footed. And…well, he might be right. Sort of.”
She’d been so focused on fixing him, she hadn’t considered what her home said—hell, screamed—about her. She hadn’t even been able to commit to a shade of paint for her living room, or decent curtains for the kitchen windows, and she’d expected him to believe she wasn’t just using him to scratch an itch? And she definitely had used him as an excuse to avoid a decision that had to be hers alone.
She frowned up at Shawnee. “What if I can’t stand to live here? The web pages, the gossip, people judging every move I make…I couldn’t hack it in Cheyenne.”
“You take zero crap off of me, but you’d let a bunch of pinhead strangers run you out of town?” Shawnee curled her lip in contempt. “You don’t even have to play nice anymore on your daddy’s account. Why do you give a puckered-up rat’s ass what anyone thinks?”
“I…” Don’t. The realization stunned her. She really couldn’t care less what they thought of her, personally. Her father, Elizabeth, Delon—none of the people who might be hurt gave a damn. All the leeches had done was generate a ton of new business for Sanchez Trucking. Even Willy’s family had reached out to let her know they understood and wished her only the best.
She rocked back onto her heels and looked around. This was her place. Not just this barn, this acreage, that damn house. Texas. The Panhandle. Bone, muscle, and blood—she’d grown from the red dirt just like those pecan trees at the ranch, and if she let herself, she could feel the solid tug of the roots she’d never quite been able to sever.
Shawnee made a rudely impatient noise. “Geezus, you smart people make things difficult. Let me simplify. You can have your precious privacy, or you can have Delon. What’ll it be?”
Well. When you put it like that, it was a no-brainer.
Tori picked up the nursery card and rubbed her thumb across the embossed tree on the front. Delon had given her a present that represented the best of both the past and the future. Pasted his heart onto a piece of paper—and she’d told him it wasn’t enough. She closed her eyes against the searing stab of guilt. How could she possibly convince him to give her another chance? It would take more than a phone call or a text. The boy who’d been abandoned too many times needed irrefutable, concrete proof that she was here to stay.
“I need help,” she told Shawnee.
“No shit.”
“Not that kind.” She scrambled to her feet. “I’m talking actual physical labor.”
Tori talked fast, explaining what she had in mind as she brushed off her jeans and headed out to chat with a man about some trees.
“We have to leave for Abilene by ten o’clock Friday morning,” Shawnee reminded her.
“I’m calling in sick tomorrow. And you’re gonna pitch in.”
“Oh goody. What about the senator? He’s in town. And he has minions.”
Tori started to shake her head, then set her jaw. For one day, the American people would have to step aside. She was repossessing her father—and a few things from the attic at the ranch. “I’m recruiting him, too.”
Shawnee’s scowl deepened with every step. “Can’t you just drive over to Earnest, jump Delon’s bones, then hire somebody to do the rest of this shit?”
“He’s not there. He rode in Beaumont on Sunday and Nacogdoches last night.”
“And you know this because…”
“They won’t let me not know.” Patients, coworkers, total strangers at the In and Out Burger, all determined to share their opinions. People had lined the fences to take videos of the official start of Delon’s comeback, and then they posted them all online. Yes, she’d watched every one of them. Repeatedly. Especially the close-up parts.
“How’d he do?”
Tori made a face. “It wasn’t pretty.”
The scores or the rides. The first horse hadn’t given him much to work with, squealing and kicking at its belly the whole eight seconds, but the second could have been decent if Delon hadn’t tightened up and tried to ride the old way. Frustration had boiled inside her, but she couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t do a damn thing to help him.
“He’s in Austin this weekend,” Tori said. “The horse he drew has a lot of power, huge moves. If Delon isn’t aggressive, it’ll be ugly, but if he really goes after her…”
“He’ll be ninety or nothin’.”
Tori stopped dead. “That’s it.”
“What?”
Tori took off again, her mind hustling faster than her feet. “First I have to deal with these trees and call Daddy.” She smiled grimly. “Then I need to have a chat with the devil’s sidekick.”
And pray he didn’t tell her to go to hell.
Chapter 42
If life were like the movies, Delon would either be dead or riding high. It was always one or the other when the hero made his big comeback. Triumph or tragedy…not half-assed with a side of mediocre. He flopped down on the bed in yet another hotel room, popped a chocolate Kiss into his mouth, rolled the foil into a tiny ball between his fingers, and tossed it at the wastebasket. And missed.
He checked the time again. Four o’clock. All the afternoon’s interviews and autograph sessions were done and he didn’t have a traveling partner to shoot the bull with, or play a few hands of pitch. It was too early to go to the arena, too late to take a nap, too much anticipation humming through his system to relax anyway. Nothing to do but spin the tread off his mental tires.
Delon had decided—yeah, he could see Tori smiling her told you smile—as long as he was on the road with time to kill between rodeos, he might as well become the official PR department for Sanchez Trucking. Gil had packed his schedule with meetings in every town along the way—current clients, potential clients, appearances at western stores and ranch supply stores for his various sponsors. What Delon used to consider a necessary grind had become a passion, and he was damn good at it. By the time he and Gil were done, there would be more than enough business to keep them both hopping.
He took out his phone and poked through the screens. No messages. No one to call. He’d played enough solitaire to rot his brain, he’d already talked to Beni this morning, Gil had analyzed his first two rides to death yesterday, and he wasn’t enough of a masochist to go anywhere near a social media site.
He’d been prepared for some hoopla when he showed up at the first rodeos. He hadn’t expected the winks and nudges, the sly smiles. “Looks like you been making good use of your down time. S’pose your girlfriend will let you borrow the family jet over the big Fourth of July run?”
Delon just shook his head and kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to break the news that Tori wouldn’t lend him a bicycle. His index finger tapped the side of the phone, twitching to hit speed dial. Right about now, Tori and Shawnee would be pulling into Abilene for the Turn ’Em and Burn ’Em. Tori had been wound up since they’d entered, so he could imagine how wired she was now. He felt the hum across the miles as if they shared a high frequency bandwidth. Did she feel it, too? Or could she use that bulletproof concentration to block him? If only he could call, they could talk each other down…
Tangled in Texas Page 30
