The Sweet Spot

by Laura Drake

  Funny thing though. He was starting to see the draw. Timing his workout in the late-morning lull, he and Dana were often the gym’s only patrons. He pulled the towel off his head and wiped his sweaty face. “Six-pack? I drink one beer a night and you know it.”

  “Yeah, but herbal tea would be so much better for you.”

  “Jesus, woman. You’ve got me down here working out three times a week. Hang it up, Dana. You’re not turning me into some simpering city dude, getting my nails buffed and my body hair waxed.” He glanced at his profile in the mirrored wall surrounding the workout room. In a pair of sweats and a T-shirt with the sleeves torn off, he was hardly the height of fitness fashion. “Besides, you have to admit, this old body is looking better than when I showed up, fat and bedraggled, on your doorstep.”

  She tilted her head and studied him. “The fat is gone, I’ll give you that. Speaking to that bedraggled part, how’s it going with Charla?”

  His hands clenched at the seemingly innocent question. He knew Dana better. Between the aerobics and weight-lifting sessions, he’d found her a good listener. Not to mention her good insight into the mysterious turnings of the feminine brain. He draped the towel over the back of his neck and moved on to the quad machine. “It’s not. She’s as skittish as a mustang filly, and she tends to take everything I say the wrong way.” He slid the weight peg down two slots, settled his feet on the vertical platform, and pushed, liking the feel of his muscles bunching. “I’ve tried being subtle, I’ve tried being up front. She always finds a way to skirt around a deep discussion, much less let me ask her out.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard your ‘big move, small move’ theory, JB.” Dana tapped his foot, and he shifted it a bit to the right. “Slow the reps a bit.” She crossed her arms on her chest and waited. “Are you asking my opinion?”

  The muscles in his neck strained, and his leg muscles burned. “Damn, woman, you’ve got me sounding like a guest on Dr. Phil as it is. Jump in anytime.”

  “Well, I’d never offer an unsolicited opinion, but since you asked…” She sat on the trapezius machine next to him and leaned in, elbows on knees. “JB, this woman has listened to you talk for what, twenty years?”

  “And your point?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You guys kill me. The key to having a woman fall in love with you is so simple. We tell you what it is all the time, and so few of you get it. Why is that?”

  He grunted. “Are we having a philosophical Mars/Venus discussion here, or are you going to tell me?”

  Dana sighed and did the hair-flip thing. Did they teach all the girls that in junior high? Must have, because every woman he’d ever been around had it down cold.

  “In a word, communication.” She sat back, smug, as if she’d delivered the Holy Grail.

  Clang! He let the weight down hard and glared at up her.

  “JB, you cheated on her.” She held up a hand to silence his protest. “Oh, I know, you moved out before any bonking commenced. And maybe in a man’s mind that carries weight. But as far as Char is concerned, you and Jess might as well have been doing it in Charla’s bed. Don’t you see? It’s about trust. And you betrayed her in every way possible.”

  He ducked his head and fiddled with the weight selector. “Yeah, I see. Look, I know I screwed up.” He stopped fiddling and met her gaze. “Sincerely, I do.” He grabbed the ends of the towel around his neck in his fists, to have something to hang onto. “But even murderers can be pardoned. I’ve apologized. I’ve tried to make her understand how bad I feel about making things worse for her.” He winced, remembering the ragged scarecrow he’d glimpsed the day he’d brought Mitzi to pick up the bulls. The downhill slide had been so evident in Charla’s haunted eyes and ravaged body, it had frightened him. “I was an idiot. I’d give anything if I could go back and make it unhappen. But—”

  “Yeah, JB, you told her.” Dana addressed the ceiling. “And like I said, she’s heard you talk for twenty years.” Dana studied him as if he were a slow four-year-old. “She’s not listening, JB. Not anymore.”

  Her level stare made him cringe, and he wasn’t sure why. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!”

  “She’s not listening, JB. She’s watching.” She let that zinger sink in. “Women are tough, but we’re vulnerable. No one can hurt us worse than someone we’ve allowed close. You snuggled up next to her heart and settled in for all those years.”

  He felt sure she didn’t know that her hand stole up to cover her heart. “Then you took out the knives and diced it up into little pieces.”

  “I’m not saying that Char will let you in again. I’m not saying she won’t. I do know the only way to get close is for her to trust you.”

  “Hell, Dana, I’m forty years old. I don’t have enough time for that!”

  The serious fled with her sunny smile. “JB, you just made me feel better about you. If you understand that, there may be hope for your black soul yet.” She stood. “You need to show her that you’re worthy of trust. And I’m not talking flowers and hyperbole. I can’t tell you how.” She touched her fingers to her chest. “That has to come from here.”

  “A woman holds as great a capacity for forgiveness as she does for love.” Dana’s doe eyes softened as she took a step and touched her fingers to his cheek. “Charla knows you’re a good man. You only need to remind her of what she’s forgotten.”

  CHAPTER

  24

  When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

  —Kahlil Gibran

  Dinnng! Char’s hand jerked at the sound of the doorbell. Her finger brushed the metal spike at the middle of the hot roller. “Dang it!” She shook her hand to cool it, then inspected the angry mark. “Who the heck?” She glanced in the mirror. Rollers covered the left side of her head, the right side lay flat and lifeless. Her pre-makeup face shone ghastly in the fluorescent light. The terry zip-front robe covered her from neck to ankle but was hardly fit for company. Dinnng!

  She hurried down the hallway. “Anyone who shows up unannounced gets the scare they deserve.” Rounding the corner of the mudroom, she saw Jimmy’s profile through the back door window. Why is he here so early? His face appeared above her café curtains.

  Scrunching the neck of the robe in her fist, she opened the door a crack. “Jimmy, is everything all right? Bella’s ceremony isn’t until three.”

  He stood, dress hat in hand, cheeks smooth and pink from a recent shave, comb tracks pristine in his damp hair. “I was ready early, so I thought I’d visit with Ben while I waited for you.”

  “Oh. He’s not here. He’s spending the day with Junior.” Her hand tightened on the knob. What was she going to do with him while she was getting ready? Jimmy stood there, fingering the brim of his hat, looking like he was prepared to stand on the back porch all afternoon if he needed to.

  She put a hand to her work-in-progress hairdo. Well, he’s already seen the worst anyway. His grin broadened as she stood back to let him in.

  “I’ll wait in the kitchen. You take your time, Char.”

  As he stepped around her, his familiar cologne filled her head. She’d bought it for him their first Christmas together. He’d never worn another. On Jimmy, it blended with his own scent to something stronger. Something deadly. She filled her lungs with it, abruptly aware that she was naked under the flimsy barrier of the robe. The terry-cloth nubs rubbed her suddenly too-sensitive skin.

  She noted his broad shoulders and long legs as he strode to the kitchen. Jimmy’d always looked great in a suit, though it took a wedding or a funeral to get him into one. He opened the cupboard above the stove and rummaged through it, setting the pottery clinking. Standing on tiptoe, his head disappeared behind the cabinet door. She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could, he emerged with a grin and his old coffee cup in hand: a huge white mug advertising Purina Cow Chow.

  He poured from the eternal pot of coffee on
the stove. “You do what you need to do, Char, I’ll be fine out here.”

  Yeah, like I’m going to relax with you in the house. She hustled past him, head down.

  “Oh, Char?”

  She turned to see him, one hand in the pocket of his dress slacks, coffee cup in the other, looking like a model from a Western wear catalog.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you run across my championship baseball cap?”

  Her fist tightened in the material at her neck. “Not lately.” Cheeks flaming, she scurried for the hall.

  Standing in front of the mirror once more, she forced herself to take a deep breath. The butterflies living in her stomach seemed to like it, so she took another. I’m not going to rush. If he shows up unannounced, he deserves to cool his heels. She picked up the next roller and wound it in her shortened hair. She had her doubts about them going together to Bella and Russ’s vow renewal. It felt too much like a date.

  Hair cooking, she retrieved her liquid makeup from the medicine cabinet. Last year she’d had to switch from the powder she’d used all her life when it began to settle into the tiny cracks under her eyes. She dabbed it on a facial sponge, then patted her face. Besides, the liquid better hid those darker spots. She backed up for an overall view. Better.

  But to a guy who’s used to looking at a taut coed? Old.

  Disgusted, she grabbed the blush, applying it with quick jerks. You’ve got nothing he hasn’t seen from every possible angle. True. The almost two years since he’d been up close and personal had not been kind to her forty-year-old skin. She snapped out the wand and brushed mascara on her thinning eyelashes. Is this how it happens? The juices dry up and everything darkens, slows, or sags.

  Raising her arm, she slid up the sleeve of her robe and did a bicep curl. She pinched the skin beneath, gratified to note that the underside of her arm didn’t hang. “At least I don’t feel like a half-thawed chicken anymore.” She forced a smile. Better. She reached in the cabinet for the eye shadow.

  Twenty minutes later, primped, plumped, and potentially pretty, she stepped out of the bedroom, dressy shawl over her arm, and closed the door behind her. She smoothed her hand over the bodice of her new dress to calm the butterflies, but they weren’t buying it. Down the hall, light spilled from the doorway that hadn’t been opened in months. Alarmed, she forced her feet forward.

  Jimmy looked huge, perched on the edge of the child-size bed. Unaware of her, he looked down at the toy he turned in his big hands: a stuffed bull, missing one eye, with bare patches where the fur had been loved off.

  She gripped the door frame to keep from snatching his arm and dragging him from the room. Jimmy closed his eyes, stark pain etched on his hard face as he lifted the toy, buried his nose in it, and inhaled.

  A tender bubble of sorrow swelled her chest, closing her throat. She remembered the little badges, lined up on the grave marker. The two of them had made her child together. She didn’t have a corner on grief. Clearing the anger from her throat, she took a deep breath.

  Jimmy lowered the toy and looked up with pensive eyes. “Don’t you think it’s time to clean out this room, Little Bit?”

  An arrow slipped past her defenses to find her clenched heart. She gritted her teeth and pushed past outrage to the unexplored emotion beyond it. When she could speak again, she choked out the truth. “I can’t even force myself to open the door.”

  Jimmy laid the bull gently on the bed’s pillow and stood. “You don’t have to do everything alone, Charla. You let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll help.” His wary eyes scanned her face. “If you want.”

  She sniffed and caught a tear on her finger. She rubbed her palms together and pushed off from the door frame. “We should go.”

  He stood, and as he passed, she touched his arm. “Thanks, Jimmy. I’ll think about what you said.”

  He nodded, settled his hat on his head, and walked on.

  On her way through the kitchen, she noted Jimmy’s mug, washed, sitting on the drain board. She unraveled the shawl to put it on, but Jimmy took it from her and settled it over her shoulders. With his hand at the small of her back, they left the house. His hand had always rested there. She stiffened to keep from arching into it, like a cat reaching to be petted.

  He’d washed his truck for the occasion. It sat sparkling in the sun of the yard. Jimmy pulled the back door closed behind him, rattling the knob to be sure it was locked.

  He touched the small of her back again, but she didn’t move. “Um.”

  “What?”

  She hated the heat that flooded her face, making her feel like a debutante at her first dance. “We can’t take the truck.” She smoothed a hand over her shiny silk pencil skirt. She’d fallen for the dress the minute she’d spied it in the Posy Shop’s window. Electric blue, the blousy top broadened her shoulders, and the tight skirt did good things for her rear end, but she now realized it wasn’t very practical. There’s no way she could lift her leg high enough to reach the running board of the F250.

  Jimmy looked confused for a second, then broke into a grin. “No problem, Charla Rae.” He held out a hand. She put hers in it, then concentrated on not wobbling as she crossed the yard in the thin, too-high heels. She should have known better than to take Bella shopping with her. At least she’d drawn the line at Bella’s first choice of footwear: glittery silver stripper sandals.

  Jimmy escorted her around the truck and opened the door, then bent and, before she could think, lifted her neatly onto the high seat.

  Flustered, she tugged at the hem of her skirt, conscious of his vantage point. “Thanks.” When she reached to pull the door closed, it wouldn’t budge. She forced herself to look to where he stood, holding the door.

  He whistled soft and low, staring at her legs with a look she hadn’t seen on his face in years. “You are one good-looking woman, Charla Rae Denny.”

  Before she could react, he closed the door and strolled around the front of the truck.

  On the way to the Donovans’, the air in the truck seemed close, crowded with memories and potential. When she slid the window open a crack, clean air whistled in.

  “I had an idea, Jimmy. What do you think of Bodacious’s line? Do you think it would blend with Tricks’s bloodlines?” She rushed on. “His sons are about the right size and proven buckers. He’s also passing on a good rack of horns. I read that horned bulls score higher, just because they look scary.”

  Jimmy glanced from the road. “They don’t just look scary. Don’t you remember that time in Killeen, when that bull chased me down? Threw me butt over teakettle. I didn’t realize until I got behind the chutes that his horn tore my jeans, and my butt was entertaining the crowd.”

  Char chuckled. “It may be funny now, but I about had a heart attack then.” She took a deep breath of cleared air. “Remember that last trip to the finals, when you won everything? You walked right to the stands, picked me up, and carried me over to accept your buckle. I’ve never been so embarrassed.” Jimmy glanced from the road. Their eyes locked. “Or proud.” She turned her head to look out the window, surprised she’d said it out loud.

  “Bella and Russell, have you come here freely and without reservation, to give yourselves to each other in marriage?” The cassocked priest stood, Bible in hand, before the French door to the patio in the Donovans’ great room.

  Bella’s alabaster skin glowed in the unfiltered sunlight, a stark contrast to the black curls framing her face. Everyday beautiful, today her friend had vaulted to goddess status. The dove gray satin Grecian-style dress flowed like liquid metal over her curves to a fluted, asymmetrical hemline. Bella could have modeled for the cover of Couture magazine, except for the heavy silver Gypsy earrings. Char glanced down. And the glittery stripper sandals that Bella snatched up when Char passed on them.

  Russ’s florid complexion made it look as though his tie was strangling him, but there was no mistaking the look in his eye: solemn, proud, and smitten.

  Char tuned ou
t the priest and looked across the wedding couple to Jimmy, who seemed absorbed by the proceedings. The weight loss showed most in his face, erasing the bloated, self-satisfied man she remembered. Leaving what? She squinted, blurring the details. He looked more like the nineteen-year-old she’d married all those years ago than the stranger he’d grown to be.

  Her parents had wanted to throw a large wedding for their only child, but Char knew money had been tight. Besides, big and showy wasn’t her style, even back then. They’d opted instead for an intimate ceremony in the church she’d been christened in and a reception in her own backyard. At nineteen, Jimmy had been trying to make his name on the rodeo circuit, so they’d combined their honeymoon with a competition rodeo in Austin.

  A first-class Hawaiian cruise couldn’t have been more fun. They drove to the Holiday Inn near the arena straight from the reception. They laughed the whole way, giddy with the knowledge that sex was now not only sanctioned but encouraged. They took full advantage too, splurging on room service so they wouldn’t waste time dressing to go out. Taking her time, exploring his body, she’d discovered as much about her own. That his look could make her nipples harden. That his finger trailing her hip could make her wet. That she held a woman’s power, poised over his prone body. A new world opened in that generic hotel room, spinning the cocoon of physical emotion they shared in bed for the next twenty years. So intent were they that Jimmy almost missed his event. They arrived rushing and laughing, just in time for him to warm up before getting on his bull.

  The weekend had been magical. Jimmy won the event, along with a belt buckle and enough money to buy their first bucking bull. Flushed with sex and success, they returned home on Monday, as sure of each other as they were their charmed future.