Chris lunged forward and his fist crashed into Randy’s jaw before anyone could prevent it. Helene gasped in horror as Randy staggered back, shaking his head, then recovered enough to launch himself at Chris.
The scene that followed seem to linger in slow motion limbo forever, but Helene realized afterward that it probably lasted only a few seconds. The two men struggled, tumbling to the floor and knocking over a hat stand, rolling over and over and landing wild punches before Chet and several others succeeded in prying them apart.
“You’re a sore loser, Sills—you were a sore loser in the third grade,” Chris gasped, struggling against the arms holding him back, trying to get at Randy once more.
“And you were a low-life townie then and you still are now, Murdock,” Randy replied through bloody lips. He had gotten the worst of the fight and looked it. “A hundred rancher fathers and lawyer brothers can’t change that.”
Two of the men dragged Randy off to the next room and Chris slumped back into the booth they had left, taking a long pull of his now flat beer. Helene stood mute, staring at the large, purpling bruise on his left temple.
“What are you looking at?” he finally said.
“Are you all right?” she said, finding her voice.
“Of course, I’m all right. That’s not the first fight I’ve ever had and it won’t be the last.”
“Why?” she said, sitting across from him. “Why was he acting like that?”
“He came in second at the rodeo. He comes in second every year—I beat him all the time. I guess he doesn’t like it.”
“What was all that about third grade?”
“We hated each other as kids, too. This is nothing new. We lived near each other and he resented it when I found my family and took over the ranch. He’s still living in the same house and thinks I’m putting on airs. I don’t give a damn what he thinks, to tell you the truth, but saying that about you got my goat.”
“That’s why he said it.”
“Sam can’t see what a loser he is. Randy is his brother’s kid and Sam talks too much around him.”
“It isn’t Sam’s fault. I wanted to come here.”
“I guess you didn’t know that Randy Sills has the emotional development of a two-year-old.”
“You didn’t look too highly evolved yourself, rolling around in the sawdust with him.”
Chris looked at her for a long moment, then glanced away.
Marge appeared with a bunch of ice wrapped in a towel.
“For your eye,” she said to Chris, handing the bundle to him.
Chris applied the pack gingerly to his face, wincing slightly.
“Randy’s face is much worse,” she volunteered.
“Randy’s face was much worse before the fight,” Helene said, after Marge left. “Poor Marge. She must have nursed a few gladiators before you two.”
“Especially on Saturday night, there’s always at least two real dustups.”
“Aren’t we fortunate it isn’t Saturday?” Helene asked sweetly.
“Have you seen enough of Brodie’s?” Chris asked dryly, setting the ice pack on the table.
“I think so,” Helene replied.
“Then how about we head home?” he asked.
“Fine.”
They walked out, Chris’ arm around her protectively, saying goodbye to Chet and Marge at the bar.
“Do you want me to drive?” Helene asked as they neared the car and his hand went into his pocket for his keys.
He looked at her in disbelief, the neon window lighting making his skin glow red.
“Chris, you just had a concussion at the rodeo and now you had this fight. Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”
“I’ll tell you about it when I’m not,” he said shortly, opening her door for her.
Helene sat back against her seat wearily and closed her eyes, wondering if the day would ever come when he could admit that he wasn’t a superman.
He got in and drove away, negotiating the trip in silence for a while before he said, “Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“Then what? There’s a draft of cold air drifting toward me from your direction.”
“I’m just realizing that living with you will require some... adjustments.”
“To dealing with low-life trash, you mean?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You were thinking it.”
“You can’t possibly know what I was thinking.”
“Then tell me,” he said challengingly.
“I was thinking that you must have survived some tough knocks to get where you are,” she said honestly.
“And where am I? Living off a business my father started and my brother nurtured, in love with a woman who thinks my friends are garbage and just had to see my old hangout to prove it to herself.” His voice was bitter, his profile stony in the near dark.
“Stop the car,” Helene said.
“What?” His head turned.
“I said pull over and stop the car.”
“Helene, I’m in the middle of Converse Street.”
“Then turn off Converse Street, I want to talk to you.”
Sighing loudly, he did as she asked, turning into a residential block and gliding to a stop at the curb. He switched off the ignition and said, “Well?”
Helene slid across the front of the car as far as the bucket seats would allow and put her arms around his neck.
“What’s this?” he murmured, leaning in close to her.
“I’m kissing you,” she said, doing just that.
He kissed her back.
“I wanted to see Brodie’s because I’m trying to understand you,” she said, her lips against his cheek, roughened now with evening shadow. “All of this has happened so fast that I feel at a loss. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you or show you up. I thought it would bring us closer if I could share some of your past with you.”
“It’s not going to bring us closer for you to watch me fighting with Randy Sills,” he replied, kissing her neck. “I saw your face. You were horrified.”
“That’s just because I never saw a fistfight before, except in the movies. I’ve led a sheltered life—you said so yourself.”
“I assumed it was because you thought I was a thug.”
“Of course I don’t think that,” she said, putting her head on his shoulder.
“Helene, I’m trying to change, but it’s not about to happen overnight. And going back to places like Brodie’s isn’t going to make it any easier on me.”
“No more Brodie’s, I promise,” Helene whispered, pressing closer to him.
A police car came down the street and slowed as it cruised past them.
“We’d better get a move on before we’re arrested,” Chris said, laughing.
“Okay.”
Chris started the car again and finished the drive in a better mood. He seized her as soon as they entered the house.
“You scared me,” he said, pulling her into his arms.
“How?”
“I thought you were having doubts about… you know, us.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I don’t ever want to see you looking at me like that again.”
“You won’t. Forget about it.” She kissed him repeatedly, distracting him until he picked her up and set her on the sofa.
“Here?” she said.
“Why not? Are you expecting a visitor?” He grabbed her T-shirt by its hem and pulled it over her head.
“I love this creamy skin right here,” he said, bending to kiss the tops of her breasts where the flesh swelled above her bra.
Helene sighed and lay back against his arm.
“And here,” he added, moving his lips to the base of her throat. She ran her fingers through his thick hair as he unhooked her bra deftly with one hand and the scrap of lace fell to the floor.
“I used to have dreams about you making love to me,” she said softly, stretching out on the couch as he p
ressed her back with the palm of his hand against her bare shoulder.
“So did I. I had the first one the night I met you.” He unzipped her jeans, pulled them off her legs and tossed them onto the floor.
“That fast?”
“That fast.” He knelt next to her on the rug and pressed his cheek to her thigh, his eyes closed.
“I remember what I thought when I first saw you,” she said, looking down at him.
He opened his eyes. “What?”
“You were half naked, if you recall, and I thought you had a beautiful body.”
He grunted, running his hand deliberately over the satiny surface of her other leg.
“I couldn’t get you out of my mind,” she said, sighing as he moved his hand and placed his splayed fingers on her belly, just above the line of her pants.
“Did you try?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I guess you weren’t too successful.” He smiled and hooked his index finger under the waistband of her briefs.
“Do you believe that some things are just meant to be?” she asked, noticing the sheen of the lamplight on his bent head.
“Like fate?” he said, tugging.
“Yes.”
“Lift,” he said, and she raised her hips. He pulled her briefs off and tossed them over his shoulder, where they caught, swinging, on the umbrella rack near the door.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Helene said, as he sat back and began to unbutton his shirt.
“Well,” he replied, considering, “something sure sent you my way, and if you want to call it fate that’s all right with me.” He shrugged off his shirt and unbuckled his belt.
“Are you glad?” she asked, watching him undress.
“Are you kidding?” he countered, looming above her.
She hooked her arms around his neck and drew him down to her. “I mean it, Chris,” she said. “I know I rocked your world. Sometimes you even seem to resent how much you feel for me and the power you know it gives me.”
“You think too much,” he said, twining his limbs with hers and kissing the tip of her nose. “If I resent anything, it’s the time I wasted before I found you.”
“But...” she began.
“Shut up,” he said, and kissed her quiet.
* * * *
Ten days later they came in from a shopping trip and found a box sitting in the middle of the kitchen table.
“What’s this?” Helene asked, pushing aside a stack of partially opened mail to pick it up and rattle it. “It’s heavy.”
“Maria must have left it here,” Chris mused, glancing briefly at the shipping label.
“You know what it is?”
“Certainly. It’s a baby saddle.”
“A baby saddle? Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a little bit, Dad?”
“It pays to be prepared,” he said sagely.
“I’m sure it does, but Mom is going to announce when junior is ready for riding lessons. The saddle will not be in use a moment before that, agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Helene kissed him. “Come to bed,” she said.
“I’ll be right in. I just want to check the mail,” he replied.
She nodded and went ahead. She had undressed and was waiting for him in bed when he came through the door, a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“Did you write a letter to your school district asking for your job back next year?” he said accusingly.
She sat up. “Wait...” she began.
“And what’s this?” he went on, interrupting her. “A letter from my lawyer outlining your alimony and child support expectations. I guess my fight with Randy had more of an impact than you admitted. Just when were you planning to divorce me?”
Chapter 8
Helene stared at him. His thunderous expression assured her that he wasn’t kidding.
“Will you let me explain?” she finally said.
He said nothing, his eyes narrowed and flinty.
“I wrote that letter to the school board three weeks ago, when you weren’t even speaking to me.”
“So? You didn’t cancel it.”
“I wasn’t even thinking about it!” she said in exasperation. “When I left on leave I was given a deadline to advise the board about next year—I had to write when I did. After we got together it just went out of my mind. It wasn’t important anymore.”
“And this?” he demanded, waving the envelope with the legal letterhead engraved on its corner.
“He wrote to me, Christopher, after a discussion you had with him. I had no idea it was coming—you must have told him you wanted an outline of your obligations sent to me some time ago. I meant to mention it to you tonight, but I forgot about it.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said flatly.
Helene was stunned. “What?” she eventually managed, her voice barely audible.
“You’ve been planning to dump me once you have the baby.”
Helene sat up straighter, swallowing hard, still unable to comprehend how the relaxed, loving man she’d had dinner with had been transformed into this suspicious, hostile stranger so quickly.
“Chris, call the lawyer. Brockman, is that his name?” she said, trying to maintain an air of reasonableness in answering his ridiculous accusations. “He’ll tell you I never asked him a thing. You were insisting on alimony and child support. I told you I didn’t want it back when you first mentioned it to me. Have you had a memory lapse or something?”
“I can’t call Brockman at ten o’clock at night,” he said disgustedly, tossing the letters onto the dresser.
“Chris, do you really have to call anybody?” she said quietly, getting out of bed and slipping into his robe.
“What do you mean?” he replied testily, watching her.
“Either you trust me or you don’t. I can’t go through life defending myself and summoning witnesses every time you have an attack of insecurity.”
“I am not insecure!” he exploded, rounding on her furiously.
“No? Apparently you can’t believe that I want to stay with you. You keep looking for reasons to think I’m lying about it.” She tied the cord of his robe neatly and then faced him squarely, feigning a calmness she did not feel.
“Your degree is in education, isn’t it? I’d advise you to stop analyzing me,” he said sneeringly.
“You don’t have to be a psychiatrist to see what your problem is,” she replied.
“I should never have told you about my past life. I knew you would use it against me,” he said through clenched teeth, his fists closed, knuckles white.
“Chris,” she cried, “I’m not using anything against you. Why can’t you accept that I’m on your side? All I’m saying is that you have to abandon this backlog of suspicion and mistrust if there’s ever going to be any chance for us.”
“Oh,” he said in a carefully controlled voice, “is there some doubt of that?”
“You are deliberately misconstruing everything I say,” she replied, feeling herself falling in a waking nightmare, slipping and sliding with no way to get a handhold.
“No, I think I’m understanding you very well,” he said tightly. “Miss Well Adjusted can’t bear the prospect of a future with impossible little old me, isn’t that it?”
“I never said that,” she answered hopelessly. He was like a runaway train, hurtling out of control. She saw where he was going but was powerless to stop him.
“What, too well bred to actually say it? You’re sending the message loud and clear anyway. I guess I’d better remove my offending presence before you call the cops or something.” He stormed out of the room and out of the house and seconds later she heard his car starting up on the drive, the motor sounding loud in the night stillness. She listened to the muffled rumble of it fading down the drive as her heartbeat slowly returned to normal.
It was over so quickly that once he was gone she could hardly believe that the quarrel had happened. But the crumpled sta
tionery on the dresser and her empty bed were mute witnesses to the event.
Chris didn’t come back to the house that night. In the morning Sam told her that Chris had gone to a horse auction in Red Pass, about forty miles away, and would be returning on Thursday. Unable to bear Sam’s quietly sympathetic expression, which spoke volumes, Helene merely nodded and turned away without reply.
As soon as Maria arrived she knew that something was wrong. She sat in stunned silence at the kitchen table as Helene recounted the fight, concluding with a description of Chris’ dramatic exit from the house the previous night.
“And I haven’t heard anything since then,” Helene added, sighing heavily. “Sam said that he went to a horse auction and maybe he did, but I’m sure it’s also a convenient excuse to avoid me.” She bit her lip. “Maria, I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. Every time I think he finally trusts me something like this happens. It’s as if he can’t let himself go that final distance. At the last minute he finds some excuse like this ridiculous fight to pull back and run headlong in the other direction. I feel like I’m walking a tightrope every minute. I never know who or what will set him off.”
“Dios mio,” Maria muttered, putting her hand over Helene’s on the table.
“What do you suggest?”
Maria shook her head helplessly.
“Thanks a lot. I thought you were supposed to be the expert,” Helene said despairingly.
“I really believed that he was past all that. He seemed so happy,” Maria replied.
“I believed it too.”
“Maybe when he comes back you can talk to him,” Maria began hopefully.
“And start that whole miserable cycle all over again?” Helene interrupted, reading her mind. “I feel like a yo-yo being pulled this way and that, bobbing around just waiting for the next violent yank in another direction. It’s maddening.”
“I know he loves you.”
“Unfortunately that doesn’t mean he trusts me.”
“The two usually go together.”
“Not in this case. And I don’t know if they ever will.”
“It’s not fair to expect him to change overnight,” Maria said in a conciliatory tone.
“I’ve told myself that a hundred times.”
The Harder They Fall Page 11
