The Sweet Spot

by Laura Drake

  He turned to her, tears coursing down his long face. “It was an accident, Charla. A stupid random accident. And I miss him so bad it’s like a piece of my heart tore off.”

  His gaze on her was soft as butter on a burn. “It’s time to forgive it all, Charla Rae. We can’t have him back. We’re gonna have to wait until we die for that. I’m trying to learn how to live without him.” He raised his hands to hold her upper arms as she hugged herself to hold her guts in. “But there’s another hole in me because you’re not there. Between the two, there’s not enough left to make a life.” He squatted a bit, bringing his face even with hers. “Maybe if we stand together, we can find a way.” His eyes explored hers. “What do you say, Little Bit?”

  Could she? Let go of the guilt? Let go of Benje?

  Benje’s already gone, Charla. You’ve known that for some time.

  Mom was right. God took Benje. She studied Jimmy’s dear, hard face. Maybe if she worked the rest of her life, gave it all she had, she’d deserve the gift that God left her.

  Could she, long term? No way to know. For right now…

  She put it all down and lifted her hand to touch the cool skin of his face.

  CHAPTER

  28

  The pain passes, but the beauty remains.

  —Pierre Auguste Renoir

  She and Jimmy talked until the wind stilled and the shadows in the yard lengthened. They sat drinking coffee, digging up memories from before the breakup, and filling in the holes of each other’s experiences after it. They held nothing back, and in the laughter and the tears, they rediscovered each other. Like an intricate dance they’d choreographed over the years, they fell into step, knowing the other’s next move almost before they made it.

  Char told of her terror and pratfalls learning to run the ranch. Jimmy spoke of his time with Jess.

  “That was a huge mistake, but one I learned a lot from. Hero worship is not a good basis for a relationship.” His lip curled, showing more sting than smile. “For either party.”

  It was a hard listening, but if she expected to know Jimmy again, she needed to hear the events that shaped him since he’d been gone. After all, they’d brought the old Jimmy back to her. She hadn’t known gratitude would taste bitter. “She was so young, Jimmy. Did you let her down easy?”

  He threw his head back and shouted laughter at the ceiling. “Are you kidding? She dumped me!” Char tried to absorb the fact, while he got control of himself. After a minute, he heaved a breath and wiped his eyes. “Oh, Hon, thank you for assuming that.” He patted the back of her hand. “If a young girl is on an old guy’s arm, she’s there for one of two reasons. Either she’s sidling up to his money, or she’s looking for a daddy.” His eyes looked away. “And God knows, I was broke.”

  When he rubbed a hand down the thigh he’d broken in competition, she knew it must be aching. “Once I got over the ego bruise, I could see what’s what. Bright, shiny paper will attract a male bird. When they get it back to the nest, they find it’s not good building material.” His touch on her hand became a light caress. “I’ve been such a fool, Charla. And like the old saw says, the old ones are the worst kind.”

  He laced his fingers with hers. “Are we back, Charla Rae?”

  She knew without him saying that he meant “back together.” She didn’t have to think about what felt right. “I believe we are, Jimmy.”

  His eyes drew her in. Like a favorite denim shirt washed to the softness of flannel, his appreciative gaze wrapped her in the comfort of the familiar. Until it began to smolder. She knew that look. Knew exactly what would happen next. A flush of heat spread up her chest as a rush of need spread south. She wanted him. If she wasn’t so distracted by his sexy looks, she’d wonder at her lack of hesitation, but as it was—

  The phone rang. They jerked from each other like teenagers caught by the porch light in a lovers’ clinch.

  Dammit! JB released her hand and sat back, hoping to make room in his Wranglers.

  Charla sprang up and took the few steps to the counter. “Denny Bucking Bulls, Charla speaking.”

  She leaned a hip against the counter, and she tipped her head to cradle the phone. She was small but had always been perfectly proportioned. He took advantage of her distraction to let his eyes wander. He liked her new haircut and color. It swung, thick and shiny with her every move, making him itch to bury his hands in it. Small shoulders led to a tiny waist above the slight flare of her hips. She’d lost some weight, but she looked good. Damned good.

  “Oh, Junior, I’m sorry. I got wrapped up here and didn’t notice the time.” She shot a guilty look at Jimmy, and he grinned back. “I’ll be right over. Thanks, bye.”

  He sighed, and heaved himself to his feet. “I’ll be getting home, I guess.”

  “I’ve got to pick up Daddy at Junior’s.” Her eyes darted to his face, her smile twitchy. “Do you want to stay for dinner, Jimmy? It’s only leftover roast, but I made bread today.”

  He stepped around the table to take her hand. “Darlin’, if you’re cooking, I’m eating.”

  Her smile turned radiant and he basked in it a moment, soaking up the simple pleasure of having made Charla happy. He couldn’t wait any longer. He stepped closer. Her smile slipped, and her eyes widened. “May I kiss you, Charla Rae?”

  Her tongue flicked over her lips, sending a shock wave to his John Henry. As she stepped up on the rung of the bar stool, her face came even with his. “Oh, James Benton, I really wish you would.”

  He smoothed his hands over her arms to her waist and then to the small of her back, snuggling her to his chest. He’d waited so long for this, he planned to savor it. Her hands settled lightly on his shoulders and as he lowered his head, he held her gaze, to make sure she was sure. When everything blurred, he closed his eyes to better appreciate the input bombarding his senses.

  Her familiar scent filled his head, some kind of delicate flower and the essence of Charla beneath, in a potent potion that mainlined to his brain. She relaxed, fitting against him like two puzzle pieces, same as they always had. He tipped his head and touched his lips to hers. He meant to tell her with his lips of his respect, his gratitude. But the kiss fast morphed into something different. Something hotter.

  Her tongue met his in a tentative reunion and he took it without hesitation. Cupping her butt, he tugged her closer. She whimpered and captured his face between her hands as if she held something way more precious than a worn-down cowboy. She fit perfectly in his arms, filling his empty spaces. Just like that, his world shifted to the proper angle for the first time in well over a year. It was everything he could do to keep his hands gentle, when all he wanted was to rip her clothes off and take her right here on the kitchen counter.

  That wouldn’t do. Not with Ben waiting. He lightened the kiss, loving her ladylike groan. He set her back on her feet.

  God, it was good to be home.

  She flushed, and her hands fluttered to her hair. “Jeez, Jimmy, you make me forget everything.” She smoothed her hands over her clothes, straightening.

  “You need to be mussed up a little.” He shot her a grin as he reached for her purse, hanging on the back of the chair, and handed it over. “Why don’t I take you and your dad to town? I’ll buy you that meat loaf special down at the diner I’ve been promising you.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He puffed up as proud as the day she’d accepted his invitation to the senior prom. “Well, then, let’s go get Ben.” He reached for his hat on the counter and settled it on his head. “Then we’ll head downtown and set the town tongues to waggin’.” Orange rays of the setting sun washed the yard of the Double D in amber when he pulled up the drive. He spied Junior and Ben, standing at the corral fence, jawing. When he’d parked, Char reached for the door handle. “I’ll get him, Char. You stay warm. I’ll be right back.” He left the truck running and stepped out into the chill.

  The men watched his approach. Ben’s face lit up. “You’re back, JB. It
’s about time! Did you win you a buckle this time?”

  He winced. Char had explained sundowners’ syndrome to him, but it still hurt every time. Well, he’d be close from now on; he wasn’t missing any more time with Ben. “I didn’t, Ben, but it sure feels good to be finally home.” He took the old man’s gnarled hand and shook it.

  Junior’s beady eyes studied him. “Is that so?” He glanced to the truck, then back. “Well then. Looks like you mighta figured out how to be a big man after all.” He reached for JB’s hand, to shake it. “Welcome home, JB.”

  Char sat tucked into “their” booth beside Jimmy at the diner. Her dad perched on the vinyl seat across the table, talking a mile a minute. Trying to ignore the presence of his muscular thigh in her personal space, she smoothed her hair behind her ear and looked at the menu. Might as well have been hieroglyphics. She felt as though she’d been washed and put through a second rinse cycle. Heck of a day. Deep inside, heavy emotional exhaustion lurked, waiting to pull her to the oblivion of sleep. At the same time, an overlay of anticipation skittered over her taut wire nerves.

  Was there such a thing as emotional whiplash? She glanced on the wall, to the sepia photo of Main Street in the early 1900s that had hung there as long as she could remember. Here she sat, once again, with Jimmy. She glanced to him. The pain of the past year and a half had weathered further the hard planes of his face, yet the essence of the brash teenager still lingered beneath—if you knew where to look.

  She looked at the empty seat beside her dad, to the space once filled by her mother and Benje. Those holes would always gape, but for the first time, Char felt that maybe she’d found a way to coexist with them.

  Mom, I consign my baby to your care for now. Kiss him for me. Tell him how much his mom loves him, will you?

  She turned her head to the wall and brushed at the tear with a scratchy paper napkin.

  Jimmy sat listening to her dad, perusing the menu. But somehow he noticed. He gently took her hand in his, and when her dad came up for air, he turned to her. “Are you all right, Little Bit?”

  Jimmy had always had a gift. When he looked at you, he focused all his attention. He was really there. You knew you were special, and for that moment, you were the only person in the room. Back in high school, that gift had drawn girls to him like a season’s end sale at the Posy Shop.

  “I’m okay, Jimmy.” As she said it, she realized it was true. She squeezed his large callused hand.

  As he held her gaze, his eyes turned soft and smoky. Her thermostat clicked and the furnace in her chest fired up, spreading heat. Not like it wasn’t already hot in here, what with every eye in the place trained on them. She fanned herself with her menu.

  “You want to share the meat loaf plate with me, Charla Rae?”

  “Sounds good,” she said, grateful not to have to make a decision.

  When the Olsen’s girl sashayed up, JB ordered for all of them. Char sat back, appreciating a holiday from being in charge.

  “What will y’all want for dessert?” the waitress asked. “Harve says it’s on the house.” Char glanced to the serving window behind the counter. Harvey Meister waved a spatula at her, huge grin on his face. She waved, then turned back, face flaming. “Thanks, but I couldn’t.” Her stomach was full of jumping beans already, and she hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

  Somehow she got through the meal, but between curious friends stopping by and Jimmy’s hand resting warm on the inside of her thigh, she heaved a sigh when it was over.

  One good thing. Eating at the diner with Jimmy was as effective as placing a full-page ad in the Hill Country Community Press; everyone in town would know they were back together by morning.

  An hour later, Char stepped into the hall and pulled her dad’s door closed. The excitement of the day seemed to have left him exhausted too. He was asleep almost before he went horizontal.

  She hesitated, hand on the knob, knowing that one way or another, her world would change in the next few hours. She tucked her hair behind her ears, took a deep breath. She put one foot in front of the other down the shadowed hall to the light spilling from the kitchen.

  Jimmy stood with his canvas jacket still on, turning his hat in his hand. Was he nervous too? Those danged party-animal butterflies were at it again—she didn’t remember being this afraid the first time. “Jimmy, we promised to be open with each other from now on. So—” She wet her lips and forced her gaze to his stoic expression.

  “Will you stay, Jimmy?” When he opened his mouth to answer, she rushed on. “Not because you feel responsible. I’ll be just fine if you say no. But if you stay, I want it to be because you want me. All of me. You know I’m a work in progress.” She tilted her head. “But I’ve discovered that I can take the hard truth. You don’t have to feel obligated any longer.”

  “Jesus, Charla. Obligated?” He tossed his hat onto the dining room table where it landed with a hollow thump.

  “You’re smart, you’re self-sufficient, and you’re cute.” He reached for her. “But you sure talk a lot.” His head dipped, and his kiss sizzled down to her toes. He retreated sooner than she would have. “I thought that I wanted you twenty years ago, Charla Rae, but I didn’t.”

  When she’d have looked away, he hooked a finger under her chin to bring her attention back. “What I felt for that sweet little country girl is nothing compared to what I feel for the woman in front of me.” She saw the Jimmy she loved in his lopsided grin. “Hell yes, I want you, Charla Rae Denny. Always have. Always will.”

  JB paced the bedroom, barefoot, while Charla got ready for bed behind the closed bathroom door. His glance shifted around the room. Nothing had changed. Well, everything had, really, but the room itself hadn’t. His side of the bed was unwrinkled, pristine. His fingers itched to mess it up, to prove he was back. His attention fell to a hardcover book, spotlighted in a pool of lamplight on the nightstand.

  Healing Wisdom: Easing a Path through Grief

  Settling on the edge of the bed, he flipped it open to a bookmarked page.

  Every evening I turn my worries over to God. He’s going to be up all night anyway.

  —Mary C. Crowley

  “Amen to that, Mary.” He snapped the book closed. His toes tapped a drumroll on the wood floor. What the heck was she doing in there?

  I’m not going to bed in makeup. If I haven’t frightened him away yet, he can take it. She pinched her cheeks to add some color to the butt-white skin and tried not to look too closely in the mirror. Maybe that’s why God makes your vision fail as you get older. It’s kinder.

  She stood before the mirror, buttoning blue flannel pajamas with shaking fingers. Fluffy white cartoon sheep bounced across the material on her chest. Oh, nice. You’re a forty-year-old woman, taking a man to your bed for the first time in forever, and this is the best you can do? How sad is that? It’s going to put a damper on the mood if he’s laughing his head off.

  It would almost be better to walk out naked. She reached for the top button before she remembered. He’s used to a twenty-year-old! Her hand dropped. Better flannel sheep than floppy boobs and a poochy belly. He sure hadn’t traded up in the body department.

  Her panicked gaze darted the room, searching for an alternative. My robe! She reached for it. Yellow terry cloth, it covered her from neck to ankle. She looked closer. In spite of numerous Shout applications, the sleeves were stained gray and snagged strings dangled everywhere; it looked like a shedding bison. A yellow shedding bison.

  She groaned.

  A soft tap at the door made her jump. “Charla? You okay in there?”

  She shot a look to the ceiling. You got me into this. I hope you’re amused. She pulled open the door…

  And forgot all about what she was wearing. He stood before her shirtless, skin glowing in the light of the table lamp. She’d always loved Jimmy’s chest. Whipcord working muscles under pale skin dusted with dark hair. She followed the line down, to where it disappeared beneath his flashy belt buckle. Her swal
low clicked loud in the hushed room.

  Flushing, she raised her eyes. His hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it, ruffling the curls. The hungry look in his eye told her he hadn’t even noticed what she wore. He brushed a feather-light kiss against her lips, then held out his hand. When she put her shaking one in it, he turned and led her to the side of the bed. Her sheets were turned down neatly, but his side of the bed was torn up, the blankets and sheets in a jumbled mess. At the pressure of his hands on her shoulders, she sat on the edge.

  He sank onto one knee in front of her, his dark eyes watching. He touched her as if she were precious. And just for this little while, she wanted to believe it. He dropped his head into her lap, his arms bracketing her thighs.

  Startled, her hand went to his hair, smoothing it. “What is it, Jimmy?”

  He didn’t answer at first. She watched his back rise with his deep breaths. When he lifted his head, the light softened the hard planes of his face. He frowned up at her.

  “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Charla. But I swear to you—on my son’s grave—if you take me back, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” His tortured eyes searched hers, waiting for an answer.

  Hurting for him, she raised her hands to his face. “I have at least as much to answer for as you, Jimmy. I’ve stayed angry for a long time: at you, at God, but mostly at myself. We’re going to both have to find a way to put it behind us.” She smiled through her tears.

  “Because living isn’t about the blame, Jimmy. It’s about forgiveness.”

  She pulled him closer, until he knelt nestled between her thighs. She tilted her head and gently touched her lips to his, to seal the unspoken vow.

  Jimmy’s arms came around her, and he tilted his head further and drew her into the kiss, moaning when her mouth opened beneath his. He crushed her to him, his movements frenzied, as if he were afraid he’d lose her. His breath sped up and labored. Char realized somehow her legs had wrapped themselves around his waist, and she was clinging just as tightly.