The Sweet Spot

by Laura Drake

  Pushed him to put his wants above his family’s needs.

  Isn’t that what Char and Jess had been telling him, each in their own way? He glanced through the pole fence to where Travis and Ben stood, heads together in the arena. There they were—the past and the future—and JB fell somewhere in between. What would life be like when he was Ben’s age? No way to know. He urged the first bull into the chute, then climbed the fence and dropped the narrow gate behind him.

  He did know one thing, though; if you were busy looking back, regretting the past, you weren’t planning for the future. JB pictured himself, old and bent, sitting under a lap blanket, in a generic facility somewhere.

  Alone.

  Gooseflesh ripped across his skin, and he shivered in the sweltering heat, contemplating the rest of his life without Charla Rae in it. What would be the point?

  Travis strode toward him, eyes steely with resolve.

  There’s no way to change the past, JB. Time to put it down and start shaping the future.

  His family’s future.

  It might be battered and besieged, but the Enwright family was his, right down to the blonde whirlwind at its center.

  It was time to stake his claim.

  JB turned the truck into the driveway of the old Koehler place, Russ and Bella’s new home.

  Funny how time works, Char thought. As a little girl, she’d made this trip, Mom in a flowered dress for visiting, her purse perched on the seat between them. Later, after they’d married, she and JB had come to pick up her mom from her visits with Mrs. Koehler. Now here she sat, on another trip to the Koehler place; everything familiar yet so different.

  She glanced across the seat at Jimmy. The years had etched lines in his ruggedly handsome face, but other than that… The veil of time thinned to gossamer and Char felt as if she could tear it away, returning to a better time when Benje had lay cradled, safe in a child’s seat behind her. A strangled sound escaped.

  Jimmy whipped his head around, fear in his eyes. “You okay?”

  She cleared her throat. “Just swallowed wrong. I’m fine.”

  His frown looked doubtful, but he turned his attention back to the task of parking.

  They emerged from the car, Jimmy carrying the butcher paper–wrapped steaks and the wine. She carried Bella’s house-warming present. They wandered up the walk to the open front door.

  Char stood at the door’s threshold and called out, “Anybody home?”

  Bella’s face popped around the doorway to the kitchen, her curly hair so out of control, it defied gravity, floating almost straight up. With a huge smile, she stepped into the hallway, gesturing them inside. “Welcome to Casa di Donovan, such as it is.” She yelled over her shoulder in a New York truck driver voice, “Hey, Russ, the cavalry is here!”

  Bella looked like a ranch wife in her Wranglers, boots, and Western shirt. Well, almost. Her Wranglers fit like skin on a slim sausage, and bangles clinked on her wrists. It was still Bella, after all.

  JB urged Char forward with a touch at her back, then reached around her to shake Bella’s hand. “I guess I’m going to have to start calling you East Texas now. Welcome to ranch ownership, Bella.” He handed her the bottle of wine and the steaks. “May you find it as rewarding and wonderfully exasperating as we have.”

  Bella raised an eyebrow at the “we,” but thank God Russ lumbered into the hall, filling it, deflecting her attention. Char shot JB the same eyebrow, but if he saw it, he ignored it, stepping forward to shake Russ’s hand. “JB Denny. Proud to finally meet you, Russ.”

  “We appreciate you coming out.” They walked the short hallway to the living room, empty save boxes jumbled everywhere on the hardwood floor. “As you can see, we can use the help.”

  Char handed the brightly wrapped package to her friend. “Welcome home, Bell.”

  Bella wiped her hands on her blue jeans and took the package. “Ooh, I love presents.”

  She tore the paper and opened the box, letting it all fall to the floor, revealing the black and hot pink tiger-striped bibbed apron. With ruffles.

  “Oh, this is so me!” Bella squealed. “I love it! Where did you ever find this in Fredericksburg?”

  Char snorted. “I made it, silly.” She mimed a needle pulling through material. “You know, sewing?”

  “I think that’s our cue, Russ.” JB tipped his hat back. “This is about to become a hen convention. Let’s go speak of manly things.”

  Russ said, “I’ll get us a beer and I’ll show you the… spread? Is that how I say it?”

  JB clapped him on the back, dropping a wink at Char. “This may take a while. If we’re not back by sundown, send out the dogs.”

  As the men walked out, Char lifted the apron over Bella’s head and stepped behind her to tie it.

  Bella smoothed her hands over the fabric. “This is a perfect gift, Charla Rae, thanks. I’m going to need it soon. Russ asked me to marry him.”

  “What?” Char spun her friend around to face her. “You mean you weren’t—”

  “Are you kidding?” Bella put her hand on an outthrust hip. “Honey, I’m Italian. I had the obligatory white wedding, complete with two hundred guests, six bridesmaids, and full mass, for cripes’ sakes!”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  Bella fingered the rings on the delicate gold chain around her neck. “Russ figured the only way he’d get these off me to get them sized is to have a priest there when he put them back on.” Bella gazed out the window, a sweet smile quirking her lips. She looked like a bride; in the soft light, her face glowed in fragile luminosity. “And he was right.”

  “Oh, Bella, I’m so happy for you.” Char ignored the tiny needle of pain somewhere around her heart. “I can help with the plans. I know the owner of the Elks Lodge in town.”

  Bella shook her head. “This time I want intimate. Here, on the ranch, with just Russ, me, the priest. And you and JB as witnesses, if that’s okay?”

  “I can’t speak for Jimmy, but I would be honored.” Char sniffed back tears. “God, I know it’s sappy, but I love happy endings.”

  “They do still happen, Charla.” Bella hugged her hard. “I have one more favor to ask.”

  She took Char’s hand and led her to the huge country kitchen. “It would be such crime to waste all this.” She touched the apron. “And this. Would you teach me to cook?”

  Char laughed at her friend’s worried frown. “Bella Donovan. If a city girl like you can learn to cut a calf, you can certainly learn to cook! I’ll make you a deal. You call your grandma, have her send out a passel of her recipes. That way I can learn Italian cooking too.”

  “That’s a great idea. In fact, I bet when I tell Nonna, she’ll insist on a trip out, and she’ll teach us both.”

  “You’re not getting off that easy. There’s one more thing.” Char felt blood flood her cheeks and rushed on before she could chicken out. “Would you teach me that strut?”

  Bella cocked her head, but the doorbell chimed, sparing Char more embarrassment. With a wicked smile, Bella strolled, hips rolling as if on casters, all the way to the door.

  Jane Buxton stood on the other side of the screen, a wine bottle resting on either ample hip. “A little bird flew by and told me you were moving in today. I’m here to help.”

  Bella stood in the doorway, mouth hanging open.

  Char reached around her to push the screen door wide. “Come on in, Jane. Forgive the Yankee. She doesn’t understand southern hospitality.”

  Jane walked past them into the box-strewn living room.

  Bella muttered under her breath, “More likely a witch flew by on her broom.”

  “Hey, don’t knock it. Didn’t I tell you that having Toni Bergstrom the wicked witch of the Clip ’n Curl as a realtor would be your invitation to Fredericksburg society?”

  “Hold the door, Charla Rae!”

  They looked up to see three couples coming up the walk, arms full of casserole dishes, cake keepers, and wine. />
  The furniture truck had shown up shortly after the reinforcements, and they’d slaved all afternoon, putting the house to rights. It was long after sundown when they quit, fell on the food, and opened the wine.

  “You know, sometimes you have to take the bridle off, throw the skillet away, and let the panther scream.” Charla raised her plastic wineglass in a salute to the couples lounging about the living room.

  “I can get behind that.” Sam Baldry raised his beer bottle, his other arm around his wife. He leaned over to buss her cheek.

  “Looks like the panther’s gonna scream at that ranch tonight.” Char slapped a hand over her mouth and turned a pretty pink. Everyone chuckled.

  JB leaned back in the chocolate suede chair, propped his feet on the ottoman, and, as the conversation flowed around him, studied her. Char had always been a lightweight. One glass of wine, and anything she’d been thinking fell out of her mouth. It embarrassed her no end, but he’d always found it endearing.

  Char kept such a tight rein on herself. She’d always been that way. She sat on the leather couch across from him, chatting with Sam’s wife. He enjoyed seeing small signs of her letting go: her head reclined on the couch’s high back, one knee rested on the cushion, a stocking foot tucked under her. Catching Char still was as rare as seeing a hummingbird on a branch, resting. JB’s chest muscles tightened. Damn fine-looking woman.

  He watched emotion flicker across the face he knew better than his own. He’d traced those features in the dark, imprinting them on his fingertips and in his mind, so many times that he could sculpt that face from clay with his eyes closed. The tired lines still bracketed her mouth, probably always would. After all, what she’d been through the past year and a half was bound to leave its mark. But her skin had lost that scary gray cast, and her eyes and hair shone. She was the girl he’d fallen in love with back in high school. It was as if the years had worn away the superfluous, distilling her personality down to an essence.

  And like any distillation, the result was potent. Char turned, laughing at something someone next to him said. Her shorter hair swung, brushing her open mouth. A flush of heat rushed to his groin and up his chest. He swallowed.

  She’s no longer your wife. He crossed an ankle over his knee to give some room in his Wranglers. Maybe not, but her pheromones still called to him from across a room, touching him places no other woman’s ever had.

  He wanted her. Sexually, obviously, but also in ways he’d forgotten until he found himself outside her world looking in. He missed the way she used to look at him, a corner of her mouth lifted in a girl-next-door-centerfold way. He missed the sight of her dancing in the kitchen when she thought herself alone. He missed having the home she’d created wrapped around him, giving him strength to go out in the world and do things.

  Char glanced at her watch, straightened, and pulled her shoes from under the couch.

  He missed all those things. It was the changes in her that kept him awake, staring out of the screened walls to the night. She was stronger now. Stronger than before the accident. Stronger than he’d ever seen her. And he liked it.

  It was time he let her know, before some local buck noticed what was right under his nose.

  Char stood and glanced across the room at him with that new, guarded-detached look that tore him up every time. He dropped his feet from the ottoman and pushed himself out of the chair.

  God, I was blind. What difference did it make if the whole world looked up to JB Denny if the only one who mattered didn’t?

  They said their good-byes and walked down the porch steps, out of the warm pool of light, into the dark. When Char stumbled on an unseen lip of sidewalk, he took her elbow, grateful that, this time, she didn’t flinch away.

  “I know better than to have more than a half glass of wine. It’s a good thing you’re driving.” She chattered all the way to the car about normal things: joy and happy gossip.

  Just like she used to.

  He opened her door and handed her in. When she reached for the handle to pull it closed, he held it, resting his forearms on it and the car hood. Were those butterflies in his stomach? Must be beer fizz. “Charla Rae, would you go to dinner with me?”

  She looked up, her face porcelain pale in the light of the fingernail moon. The night was so still he could hear the faint yip-yip-howl of a coyote. She regarded him for what seemed like minutes as he hung dangling, waiting.

  “I read in a Cosmo magazine at the Clip ’n Curl that when you sleep with someone nowadays, you’re sleeping with everyone they ever slept with.” Her eyes narrowed. “I think your bed would be a little crowded for my tastes, JB Denny.”

  He reared back, as shocked as if she’d slapped him. “Jesus, Charla. I was only talking about sharing a meat loaf plate down at the diner.”

  The night didn’t hide her flaming blush. “Oh.” She looked down, fidgeting with the handle on her purse. “I’ll have to think on that, Jimmy.”

  CHAPTER

  21

  Never trust a husband too far, nor a bachelor too near.

  —Helen Rowland

  Come on, Charla Rae, we’re gonna be late!” her dad yelled down the hall for the third time in ten minutes. How could he remember where they were going, but not what time? Both she and Rosa had reminded him for the past two hours that Travis’s first competition didn’t start until four, but it didn’t seem to stick. She closed out of the American Bucking Bull’s website. At first look, Bodacious’s bloodlines seemed like a good match for Tricks’s. She’d have to remember to ask Jimmy what he thought about that.

  She stood and checked the clock on the bookshelf above the computer. Two-thirty.

  “Charla Rae!” Her dad’s strident tone bordered on panic.

  She sighed. Well, they’d just be early then. She wasn’t having Daddy working himself into a dither.

  Thirty minutes later, Char turned off the farm road onto the graveled parking lot of Junior’s domain. Only a couple of battered ranch trucks sat sidled up to the feed store, but a truck and horse trailer turned in after them, rolling slowly to the arena. When her dad released his seat belt and pulled the door handle before the car came to a full stop, Rosa reached from the back seat to hold his shoulder.

  Char put the car in park. “See, Daddy? We’re not late.” She patted his hand.

  Rosa said, “Besides, they couldn’t start without el profesor.”

  Attention riveted on the knot of men behind the chutes, her dad leapt out of the car and hurried away as fast as his bowed legs and gimpy knee would allow, leaving the door hanging open behind.

  Char smiled. “Helping with Travis sure has perked him up.”

  Rosa gathered her massive purse and got out. “JB did a good thing. He gave Ben purpose. It’s good for a man to have a reason to get out of bed every morning. Even if he can’t always remember what it is.” She stepped from the car, closed both doors, and followed Ben.

  Char’s mind skittered from the memory of lying in bed, reaching from under the covers for the meager comfort of Valium. “Amen to that, sister.”

  After locking the car, Char skirted the outside of the arena to where metal bleachers stood empty under a lip of shade provided by the metal roof. She climbed the five risers to sit at the top on the end closest to the chutes and scanned the crowd of men for her dad.

  He stood with his arm around a fidgety Travis’s shoulders. What was that on Travis’s head? It looked like a cowboy hat, only uglier. Jimmy stood alongside, hands in back pockets, listening to something Travis said. Throwing his head back, he laughed, his teeth flashing white against his tan. He clapped Travis on the back and strode away, his broad shoulders showcased in a starched Western shirt. It was tucked into a pair of Wranglers hugging that tight butt she’d always been sweet on. From deep in her womb, something stirred, as if awakening. Char put a hand over her stomach to lull the feeling back to sleep. So what if JB Denny could still make her nether regions twitch from fifty yards away? Lacing her hands in h
er lap, she sat up straight. I’m a grown woman. Her good judgment trumped her body’s wants.

  Funny, it didn’t look that way in Bella’s driveway two weeks ago, Charla.

  She dropped her face into her hands. Mom could always cut through a smoke screen to the fire. God, she could have crawled under the car seat that night. She hadn’t meant the sexual comment about Jimmy specifically, but it sure sounded that way coming out of her mouth.

  As her eyes followed Jimmy’s loose-hipped walk, she twitched again. Okay, I can admit it; I miss sex. Sweaty, back-to-her-animal-origins sex that swept through in a wave, leaving her body spent and her mind gentled. She squirmed on the seat and pried her gaze away to watch cars pull into the parking lot.

  They’d always been relaxed with each other about sex. She remembered one weekend, when Daddy traveled with Junior to a stock convention. They’d tried their best to have sex in every room in the house. JB had come up with some pretty inventive ideas. One night she’d cooked dinner in nothing but an apron. Well, she’d tried to. They ended up giggling and flour covered, making love on the kitchen counter in the middle of her biscuit dough.

  As much as the sex, though, she missed the intimacy she shared with JB. Sitting silently at the kitchen table in the morning, sipping coffee, trading sections of the newspaper. Never having to search for a key, because he always hung them on the peg next to the back door. Knowing without looking, when he came in the mudroom door, he’d use the boot-jack to pry off his boots before padding in his socks to the kitchen to say “What’s cookin’, Baby?”

  There’s comfort in knowing someone as well as you know yourself.

  Her new life was so precarious. At any time, a prize cow could die or a hay crop could fail. She was one bad decision, one unlucky break away from disaster. Char propped her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in one palm. Oh, she knew a relationship was a flimsy shield against life’s pain. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. But it would be nice to be half a team in the traces, sharing the yoke of responsibility. The sweet burden of power is better shared.