“In a sec. I’ll be right back, Mom.” In a flash, he left her side and trotted across the aisle to where the new mysteries were shelved. “Hey, Mr. Riddell. Hi! I can’t believe I just looked over, and there you were.” Without hardly taking a breath, he continued, “I told my mom I saw you, but she said I should leave you alone. But I think she only said that ’cause she didn’t want to come over here and say hello.”
Susan went from embarrassed to shocked to mortified. Right there in four seconds flat. Way too slowly, her brain caught up with Hank’s motormouth and she stilled.
Feeling his icy-hot glare, she turned.
Yes. There he was. Gorgeous in faded jeans, a wrinkled plaid shirt and a pair of scuffed work boots. After reading the inside flap of the book he was holding, Cal leaned down to Hank and almost looked peppy. Well, as peppy as a man who didn’t smile could look. “Hey, yourself.”
Hank lifted a foot out, almost kicking Cal’s shin. “I got me some new boots.”
Susan held her breath, waiting for Cal to snap at him.
But instead, he crouched down and looked at the boots carefully. Hank’s wide eyes were watching Cal’s every movement and facial expression with hope…looking for acceptance.
Oh, her boy so ached for a man’s attention!
Cal touched a bit of the embroidery on the leather. “They’re very fine. Where’d you get them?”
Hank tucked his chin to his chest. “At the resale shop.”
“Ah.”
“Mr. Riddell, don’t tell nobody. My mom said no one has to know.”
“I won’t tell a soul,” Cal replied, looking as solemn as ever. “You were smart to get them there, I think. Breaking in boots is hard on a man’s toes.” When he rose to his feet again, Cal looked over her way.
Oh, was she just imagining that his gaze softened?
She edged closer as Hank pulled on his sleeve. “We’re runnin’ errands today.”
“Are you? Like going to the library, huh?”
“Yep. But we gotta go to the grocery store after this.”
“You sound real busy.”
Worried that Cal was now stuck in a conversation he didn’t really want to be in, Susan stepped a little closer. “Well, we’ll let you go.”
He reached out and touched her arm. “Did you work today?”
“I did.”
“How’s my dad doing?”
There was true concern in his eyes—and in the undertone of his voice. Cal wasn’t just making conversation; he really was worried about his dad.
“He’s good.” She met his eyes and smiled softly. “Swearing at the physical therapist and flirting with the ladies.”
Cal’s eyes lit up with relief. “So, nothing new?”
“Nope. Try not to worry,” she said, injecting a touch of humor into her voice. “We’ve got him under control.”
“I’ll stop by soon. I’ve been busy.” He looked at the book in his hand, and seemed vaguely embarrassed to be caught doing something besides working or looking after his father.
Almost against her will, her heart softened toward him. “Hey. Listen, I’m sorry we bothered you.”
“It’s no problem.” Turning to Hank, his voice turned a shade warmer. “Glad you showed me your boots.”
That voice. So gravelly. So masculine. It got under her skin and curled her toes. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d frequent the library.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
She stumbled for a reply. Now she felt stupid. “No reason.” When he still looked her over in confusion, Susan felt like the rudest woman ever. “I mean, I guess I would have thought you’d be the type of man to just go buy a book.”
He stared at her with those cool blue-gray eyes, which made her dig the hole she was in that much deeper. “I mean… Shoot. I mean, oh, never mind. I was trying to be cute, but it sounded like an insult—I don’t know why.”
“Electra doesn’t have a bookstore, beyond Walmart and such. Did you know that?”
“I did.”
“And I like to read.”
“I do, too.” As his gaze strayed to the four DVDs clutched in her hands, Susan felt her cheeks color. “Hank, not so much.”
Hank was staring up at Cal as if something earth-shattering was going to pop out of the cowboy’s mouth any moment.
Cal glanced down at him and said, “Serena, Jarred’s girlfriend, is the librarian here. Did you know that?” Hank shook his head. “She’s great. You ought to get to know her.”
Instead of nodding politely, Hank just kicked at the carpet with the point of his boot. “Reading’s boring. It sucks.”
Cal narrowed his eyes.
Half an aisle down, a woman gasped. Whether it was from Hank’s continual chatter, or his words…Susan didn’t know.
She felt her cheeks heat. “I think that’s my cue to move on.”
To her embarrassment, Cal’s silence seemed to make Hank think it was fine to keep on talking. “This place sucks, too,” he said a little bit louder, all full of masculine bravado.
“Gentlemen watch their mouths around ladies, son.”
A sheen of red tinted Hank’s cheeks, but he didn’t back down. “I’m not a gentleman. I’m just a kid.”
Susan laughed it off. “We’ll just get out of your way.”
“You weren’t in my way at all,” Cal corrected softly. And with that, he tipped his hat at Susan, turned and walked to a shelf of mysteries, obviously in no hurry to speak to her anymore.
Susan usually would have said something—anything—to defend herself and her son. But in truth, she wondered where Hank’s sudden burst of mouthiness came from.
Trying to remember when it had started, she thought it might have been when his diabetes had been diagnosed. Had she begun to let him get away with more and more when she’d felt so bad for him?
“Come on, Hank. Let’s go check these movies out.”
In an uncharacteristic move, Hank nodded silently and walked to the circulation desk. His lips were in full pout by the time she swiped their card and they strode out to her SUV.
When they were buckled in, he looked her way. “Do you think Mr. Riddell likes me?” he asked quietly.
Her first impulse was to say of course he did. But then maybe he didn’t. “I think he does,” she replied finally, after she backed out of her parking space. “He’s just not a real demonstrative guy.”
“He liked my boots. Don’t you think?”
“I know he did.”
“Do you really think his father told him that stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“That stuff about ladies and gentlemen…”
“I imagine so. It’s the kind of thing some dads teach their sons. Especially here in Texas, I suppose.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because people go through life trying not to hurt other people’s feelings, that’s why.” She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have told him that the library and reading sucks. Mr. Riddell obviously likes to read. There’s a saying that goes, if you don’t have anything nice to say, then you shouldn’t say anything at all.” There, now she could teach manners, too.
Of course, she doubted her lessons were going to have the impact she’d been hoping for.
Hank was silent until they reached the grocery store. As they walked to the front door, he turned her way again. “Do you think you’ll see him again soon?”
“I suppose so. I work where his dad is getting physical therapy. Don’t worry about him anymore, honey.”
By her side, Hank didn’t respond, though she noticed a tightening to his jaw. He was stewing.
Oh, but she wished it was already ten o’clock. Then she’d be getting ready to take a bath and put this day behind her. It had been a difficult one—Kay had been especially short-tempered and on her case. Rosa Ventura had been moody and had hurt two other ladies’ feelings.
And Mr. Calvin Riddell was proving to make his son Cal seem like an angel. He was demanding and
short-tempered and mean.
And because of all those things, she was having to step in all the time and smooth things over. And he’d only been there one day.
“When we get home, let’s make mac and cheese,” Hank said.
All those carbs would wreak havoc with his blood sugar levels, but there was a chance they could make it work. “We’ll do a test, and if things look good, then we’ll get out that blue box.”
“’Kay,” he murmured, finally turning agreeable.
Susan tried to think of that as a positive thing—or maybe it really wasn’t. Maybe it was just that he was at the end of his rope, too. Tired and more than ready to take a break from life.
Chapter Six
Later that night, hours after fingers had been stuck, glucose meter read, insulin shot given, Hank’s favorite TV shows had been watched, and he was in bed, Susan’s neighbor came knocking on the door.
“Am I interrupting anything?” Betsy asked as soon as Susan greeted her at the door.
“Just an old rerun of Law & Order.”
Looking over her shoulder, Betsy grimaced at the television. “Oh, my word.”
Susan glanced at the screen. On TV were two detectives leaning over a particularly gruesome-looking dead body. “What?”
“If that doesn’t turn your stomach, nothing will,” Betsy said as she walked on in and closed the door behind her. “Susan, you are completely incorrigible, girl. Turn that off.”
Dutifully, she did just that, then turned to her friend. “Is there a reason you came over? Or were you just needing someone to boss around for a while?”
“I needed some advice, actually. Do you mind listening to me for a little bit?”
Betsy looked younger than usual, with her outfit of black yoga pants, loose violet-gray tank top and worried expression. Most of her makeup had been washed off, and her usually spiky hair was brushed back.
Getting to her feet, Susan walked to the kitchen. “I’ve got a bottle of wine. I’ll open it.”
After pouring two glasses, they bypassed the living room and sat together on the padded window seat in the breakfast nook. It was the farthest sitting area from the bedrooms. Though it wasn’t likely that they’d wake Hank up, Susan didn’t want to chance it. Hank needed his sleep.
And she, well, she needed girl time like nobody’s business. “So, what’s up?”
Betsy leaned her head back against the window as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. After a sigh and a sip, however, a new resolution lit her eyes. “So, do you remember that night I went out clubbing while you stayed home?”
“I do. That’s the night you went to the honky-tonk, right? The one where Cal Riddell was supposed to be at?”
“That’s the very one.”
“And, did everything go okay?” Susan started thinking all about worst-case scenarios. Had Betsy danced with Cal and fallen in love?
“It went better than that. Susan, I think I fell in love.”
“With whom?” Even as she asked the question, her stomach knotted. Even though chances were slim that Betsy had even met Cal, Susan found herself bracing for the worst possible news.
“Gene Howard. Do you know him?”
“No.” She exhaled, feeling almost giddy. When Betsy’s eyebrows rose, Susan said, “I mean, no, I’ve never heard of him. You know I don’t know too many people under eighty.”
“He’s dreamy.”
Betsy’s comment teased a smile. “Dreamy, huh? Now, that’s a description I haven’t heard in a while. How dreamy is he?”
Betsy fanned herself dramatically. “Dreamy enough to make me think of diamond rings and honeymoons.”
“After a meeting in a bar? Don’t you think that’s kind of sudden?”
“Of course. I know it’s crazy, but he’s just so great. Plus, he’s from Amarillo.”
“From Amarillo, huh? What does he do?”
“Something to do with selling to supermarket chains. It’s a good job. Marrying a guy like that would be perfect. I’d be set for life.”
Marrying a guy for his money seemed awfully cold, though Susan couldn’t deny that a tiny part of her understood Betsy’s motives. Bills and hunger did have a way of coming to the surface in every relationship. “Do you have plans to see him soon?”
“Actually, I do,” Betsy replied with a grin.
Susan sipped her wine and studied her friend some more. Maybe it was because she was so out of practice dating, but she couldn’t fathom what had spurred the visit. “What’s wrong?”
Setting her glass of wine down, Betsy looked directly at Susan. “See, the thing of it is…ol’ Gene thinks I’m a lot more like you than, well…me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“See, the thing of it is…Gene doesn’t know I’ve been around the block a time or two.” She bit her lip. “Or twenty. As soon as I started getting the idea that he’s on the conservative side, I started telling him all about how I rarely go out to bars. How I usually stay home at night and watch old television shows.” She frowned. “Things kind of spun out of control after that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Betsy. I stay home because I have Hank and because I like to watch TV on the couch. It’s nothing to try to emulate.”
“I know that. But for some reason, there at the bar, I just started spouting half truths like nobody’s business. Gene seems to really like the idea of me being able to cook.” Looking despondent, she added, “Gene can’t wait to taste my pecan pie.”
“Pecan pie? Do you even bake?”
“Not yet. I’m going to have to practice baking all the time now.”
“Not if you tell him the truth.”
After pretty much gulping the rest of her wine, Betsy said, “I would. But, Susan, I’m so tired of being alone, you know?”
Unfortunately, she knew about that feeling all too well. “What are you going to do now?”
Betsy’s eyes lit up. “I have a plan. Gene likes to double-date. Him and me and you and Steve.”
Full-fledged panic set in. “Who the heck is Steve?”
“His widowed neighbor.”
This was getting worse and worse. “Oh, Betsy.”
“Come on, it won’t be so bad.”
“It won’t be so good.” Susan imagined sitting at a restaurant with Betsy and two men, all the while Betsy pretending she was Betty Crocker and Susan pretending she still remembered how to talk about anything other than work.
“Susan, please say you will. If you go out with us, I can kind of follow your lead. When you talk about working with old people all day, I can act like that’s interesting.”
This time it was Susan who was chugging her wine. Was that really how Betsy saw her? As a boring woman who watched reruns on TV, never went out and only hung out with people old enough to be her parents…or grandparents?
“Listen, Betsy, if Gene asked you out again, he obviously likes you. And it’s probably for a whole lot more reasons than him wanting a piece of pecan pie. Just be yourself. He’ll be glad to know you.”
Betsy looked appalled. “Hell, no, he won’t. He thinks I’m sweet, like you.” Mumbling under her breath, she added, “He thinks I’m almost virginal.”
“Um, I have Hank, Betsy. I really did give birth to him. I’m no virgin.”
“You’re close, though.” She scratched her head. “Ever since you’ve moved in, you work and take care of Hank. That’s it. What’s more, you don’t even act like you’re sad about missing out on dating.”
“Hey, now—”
But Betsy just kept talking. “You don’t even act like you’re sad about not getting all hot and bothered between the sheets.”
“I don’t…all that much,” she admitted.
“Why not? Do you not like sex?”
Oh, this was horrible. “I like it fine.” Well, she did…back when she was having sex. Seven years ago.
“But you don’t miss it?”
Of course she did! But, well, she mi
ssed a lot of things. She missed feeling pretty and having someone to get pretty for. She missed candlelight and sweet, suggestive smiles. She missed anticipation.
But all she ever got by “missing” was yet another bout of sadness and melancholy. “I can’t afford to miss things,” she murmured. “I have a son.”
“But there’s got to be more to it than that.”
Was there? Suddenly, all the reasons she’d shut down on life didn’t seem to make that much sense. Was she afraid of getting hurt again? Afraid to dream again?
Perhaps she was so twisted that she was even afraid to want to dream again. And that answer, of course, made her reply sharper than she meant to. “Not really. I don’t have the money or the time to get dolled up and think about dating. More important, I don’t have the emotional strength for it, either.”
Remembering how betrayed she’d felt by Greg, she muttered, “Sometimes I think there’s just nothing left inside me for romance.”
Slowly Betsy put down her wineglass. “I’m sorry. You always sound so positive about your life. I guess I never really took the time to think that you don’t really feel that way.”
“Don’t make me into someone I’m not. I’m fine. And one day, I’m sure I’ll meet somebody and everything will be all good. But right now, it’s all on hold.”
“That could be years, Susan.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Thinking about Greg, and the big mistake she’d made with him, Susan added, “It’s not like I haven’t lived. Obviously I’ve been around the block a time or two myself.”
“I have a feeling those blocks you’ve been around aren’t all that big.”
“Maybe you’re right.” For the first time in a long while, Susan gave herself permission to stop feeling so guilty about the choices she’d been making in life. “Maybe they weren’t all that big at all.”
“So…do you think there’s any chance I can get you to change your mind about this double date?”
“Nope.”
Betsy winked. “It might be good practice for Mr. Right.”
“I’m not up for practicing,” she said with a smile, though it felt strained.
Because all of a sudden, Cal Riddell flashed in her mind. He was the type of man women dreamed about. Correction. He was the man she’d been dreaming about. Steady, responsible.
My True Cowboy Page 6
