“Mom, do me a favor and excuse us from doing the dishes. Or leave them, and we’ll do them when we get back.” He was already leading Jamie out the door, not even waiting for his mother’s response, not even stopping, on his way out, to pick up his hat from the hook next to the door. “I want to take Jamie for a ride. I’d like her to see the place.”
Jamie’s protest was evident but ineffective as Cal propelled her out through the kitchen door. Mrs. Cameron was smiling, shaking her head indulgently as she started to clear the table.
“You could at least let the girl catch her breath,” she called after him, knowing Cal wasn’t listening.
The screen door banged behind them and Cal and Jamie disappeared in the direction of the truck. In the kitchen, Big Cal picked up the dessert dishes and carried them to the sink. He ran some water over the plates to rinse them and placed them into the dishwasher. Then he straightened up and looked out the window over the sink, watching the taillights of the truck already far down the road.
“What do you think of her, Chrissy?”
His wife came over to where he was standing and joined him, watching the taillights disappear.
“I’m not sure, Cal. She’s young, of course, but it seems like she’s right on the edge—like she’s just about to go one way or the other. I think she’s had some hard times, and it’s put a rough edge to her, but underneath, there’s something really ladylike about her. Sort of smooth and gentle, if you know what I mean.”
“Just what I was thinking, too. She sure is a pretty little thing.”
“She is, indeed. I think I like her.”
“Me, too.”
“And I think Cal is in love with her.” She went back to the table, collected more dirty dishes, and brought them to the sink. “Be the best thing in the world for him,” she said, “to start thinking about the future. This last year’s been so hard on him, and I’m worried about how hard he’s taking it—he hasn’t accepted what’s happened to him at all. I was never happy about his rodeoing, but I hate for him to have it end this way.”
“Not easy,” said her husband. “Having it all be over so sudden, and so young. Takes a man a long time to get used to that kind of thing.” He remained quiet for a long time, preoccupied with another idea that was taking shape in his mind. At last, almost to himself, he said, “I never believed in spoiling my children. You know that, Chrissy. But this friend of Cal’s, now that’s something else. I do believe a little comfort would do that girl some real good. Looks to be like she could use a little spoiling.”
He kept staring out the window for a long time while his wife went back and forth, picking up the dirty dishes and loading up the dishwasher.
At last he turned around and leaned back against the sink.
“You know, Chrissy, one of these days, Cal is going to be needing that house down by the creek. I’ve been thinking about it and I believe I’m going to do that kitchen over again. Put in a dishwasher and maybe a washer and dryer. It’s a nice little place, but it could use a little fixing up. What do you think, honey?”
His wife came over to him and clasped her hands behind his neck. She kissed him lightly on the mouth and said, “I think you ought to talk to Cal about it. I think he may be having some ideas of his own about that house. Wouldn’t surprise me the least bit.”
* * *
Cal switched off the engine and waited for Jamie’s reaction.
“I wanted you to see this. It’s my favorite spot on the whole ranch.”
He had brought her to a sweet oasis that lay, recumbent and sensuous, hidden in an almost invisible pocket in the harsh desert, dotted with shadowed foliage that bristled in the moonlight. Not more than a hundred yards away, a long, low cliff rose into the night, its harsh face cleft and jagged, with spiny bushes and stunted trees clinging tenaciously to the sides of the rugged rock. Along the base of the cliff flowed a broad stream that flashed in the moonlight, its waters fed by distant mountain run-off from the melting winter snows. The stream’s music could be heard, running its endless scales, singing its timeless songs, bringing life to its patch of the desert. A broad band of vegetation grew along the waters’ banks, and at its far side, tall cottonwood trees formed a kind of grove, cool, touched equally by moonlight and shadow, a lush and private hideaway in the stark openness.
With the engine silent, Cal turned toward Jamie and rested his arm along the back of the seat, waiting to see if this lovely place affected her as it did him.
She was unaware of his eyes on her for her senses had been captured by the enchantment of the stream’s song, the grove’s sheltered beauty. Her lips parted in response to the shimmering, magical setting, and her breathing slowed, her gaze caught, as though she had been hypnotized. She turned to look at Cal and noticed that without his hat, he looked naked, somehow, like a man just coming out of the shower. He was watching her—so intently—his eyes exploring her face, eager for her response. And she knew why he’d brought her here. Before she could stop him, his hand moved toward her and stroked up through her hair, lifting it away from her neck, smoothing it back as though it had a beautiful life of its own, as though it were a delightfully, magnetically attractive adornment that he, like a curious child, couldn’t help touching.
But the pressure of his hand at the back of her neck frightened her. All her inhibitions were once again solidifying inside her.
“Cal, wait. I have to talk to you.”
She put a hand against his chest.
To Cal, her touch felt like the closing of a circle, the forming of an irresistible connection between them, and he heard nothing she said. Instead, his arms went around her, enfolding her, and in the same movement, his mouth came to hers, hungry and demanding.
“Please, Cal,” she was whispering now, stopping him, turning her face away from him, “please, I really do need to talk to you.” She felt as though there was a hand clutching her heart, a barrier against any feeling, a guard against any response. She looked intently into his eyes and she was more forceful. “Please, Cal. Please let me talk to you.” Her hand remained pressed against his chest, a silent, clear rejection.
And now he paused. He closed his eyes momentarily, as though he were in some deep, private communion with himself, and then he took a long breath, opened his eyes. He wasn’t smiling now and she was sure he was angry.
“I can hold you while you talk, can’t I?” His tone was cool.
“No. This is hard enough for me as it is.”
Reluctantly, he let her go. He sat back into the seat, resting his hands on the wheel.
“All right. Go ahead. Talk.”
“This isn’t easy.”
“I got that already.”
“I don’t want you to be angry.”
“I’m not angry.” Not yet, he seemed to be saying, but the wary set of his face told her he was getting there. “But you know what I want, Jamie.” He looked beyond her, toward the stream. “I want to go with you over there, where those cottonwoods are. Tonight. In this place. I want to make love with you.”
That stopped her. He spoke those words so easily; would he be able to understand that for her the language of love—and of lovemaking—lay trapped behind great, inhibiting barriers of sad memories and lost innocence?
“That what I mean, Cal. That’s what I have to talk about.” She could barely make the words audible. “I have to talk to you about”—she could barely say the words—“about making love.”
She didn’t know how to interpret the way he was looking at her. He was silent, eyeing her cautiously. She could do nothing but continue, now that she’d finally started.
“Making love—even the casual way you say it, like it’s something so easy. I know, it should be easy.”
Tears burned against her eyelids and she looked away from him, out the window at the gentle grove of trees.
Her voice was faint now, but Cal heard her perfectly.
“Well, dammit,” she was whispering, her face still turned away from
him, “it’s just not all that easy. Not for me, anyway. I’m not saying this right but I don’t know how to say it. It scares me to tell you this. I know how I feel when you hold me. I know how I feel . . . inside . . .” Now the tears slipped down her cheek.
“But I get scared. It’s like something bad is going to happen. And I get afraid I’ll be all numb and nothing will work right, and then I feel so ashamed. I know it’s not supposed to be that way. And I think something really is wrong with me.”
She kept looking out the window, unwilling to let him see her face.
“Has it always been like that? I mean, with other guys?” His voice was very quiet.
“Well, it’s not like there have been a hundred men in my life.” She laughed briefly, bitterly. “In a town like Sharperville, a girl like me learns early to be careful. You sleep with one guy, soon the town’ll have you sleeping around with everyone. Not that there weren’t boys who tried . . .”
“I’ll bet.”
“But Ray was the first.” She closed her eyes. “And the first couple of times it was good. I thought I was in love, and I was so damned young and so damned dumb. But then, after we got married, Ray didn’t care anymore one way or the other . . . and sometimes . . .” She really couldn’t continue.
“Did he hurt you?” Cal spoke through clenched teeth.
She pressed her forehead against the window, ashamed of the memory. She could only whisper an answer. “Sometimes.”
She didn’t see that Cal’s eyes closed and he lifted his chin as though he’d absorbed a blow. “And since Ray? Has there been anyone?”
“Are you kidding? After Orrin Fletcher and all that mess? That’s all I’d need. The judge gets wind of that, I’d never get Mandy back!”
“Hey, Jamie. You’re not expected to stop being a normal sexy woman just because you want custody of your little girl.”
“Well, that’s how it feels. Like I have to be super careful.”
“It’s not like that, Jamie. Trust me.”
She looked around at him and laughed. “That’s what they all say.”
He laughed, too, briefly. Then he reached his hand toward her and wiped the tears from her cheeks. He rested his hand on her shoulder.
“Come here,” he whispered. His arm circled her and he drew her close to him. And he kissed her. At first, just once, very softly. And then, as though he would not allow any barrier, he kissed her again, with a growing intensity.
Poor Jamie tried, she really did try . . . but his hand moved to the buttons of her shirt . . . and his hand slipped inside . . .
And that’s when she froze.
The image of those damned panties flashed through her head and she knew that this was what she’d wanted when she put them on, and she was ashamed and afraid.
She went instantly numb. “I can’t do it!”
She pushed hard against his shoulders, forcing him away from her with sudden strength. She grasped his hand in both hers, his hand that was already inside her shirt, and she felt its strength, felt his resistance, felt how impossible it could be to stop him. His face was blackening with sudden frustration and as she pushed him back, forcing his hand away from her, she was certain that now she really had made him angry. Confusion and fear raged through her.
“I can’t. Please, Cal. Don’t be angry. I can’t do it. I’m scared.” She pulled her shirt closed around her. “I told you how it is with me. I just can’t do it.” She turned from him, crying now, looking out the window. “I want to go back. Please drive me back.” The grove of trees looked dark now, and threatening.
She was rigid with her determination to keep him away, and he understood that she really meant him to stop. His jaw set hard, the muscles working. And then, abruptly, without another word to her, without looking at her again, he turned on the engine. With a grinding of rubber against the dirt, he turned the truck back toward the ranch and got them home in a hurry. And when he got there, he held no doors for her, offered no kisses goodnight. He slammed into the house, letting Jamie trail miserably behind him, and he stormed into his room.
* * *
For a long time, Cal stood at his bedroom window, his fists tight against the frame. He felt like a thousand cymbals were crashing inside his head.
What Jamie had done—what she’d said—
That sonofabitch ex-husband of hers—
It had never happened to him before. Never had a woman pushed him away. He knew Jamie was fearful, but he’d meant to be so gentle, so careful—
Guys like her ex should be horsewhipped!
The cottonwood trees looked back at him, and the swing and the fences were all white and silent in the moonlight.
He peeled off all his clothes and threw them at the wall.
No! Horsewhipping’s too good for him. He should be strung up from a tree, like in the old days.
A woman like that. So warm. I can see it. Deep down so full of love.
Naked, he continued to stand at his window, glaring for hours out into the silent night, until the moon settled behind the mountains, until the morning’s first light began to thin out the darkness.
I’m going to get that goddamned sonofabitch. Whatever it takes, I’m going to get that sonofabitch.
And in the guest room, Jamie was burrowed under the blankets, trying hard to ignore the tears she couldn’t hold back.
“I don’t care!” she kept telling herself fiercely. “I just don’t care!”
Chapter Eleven
They were right on time the next morning, ten o’clock in Elaine’s office. Jamie and Cal sat silently next to each other while Elaine reviewed the case.
“What it amounts to, Jamie, is this. We can turn around that custody order from two years ago by showing that there has been what’s called a material change of circumstances.”
Even while she explained the procedure, Elaine was puzzling out the overnight change.
What’s up between those two? Jamie’s been crying. And Cal looks like he could eat nails. And they’re both awfully quiet.
She decided not to open that can of worms. Whatever it was, it was just between them, and she was pretty sure Cal wasn’t going to bail on this girl, even if they had had a lover’s quarrel. Instead, she quickly settled the matter of fees, explaining that she was taking the case pro bono and she headed off Jamie’s protests by making some brief explanation, saying the firm always set aside a certain number of its hours in order to represent folks whose pockets were not as deep as the firm’s usual corporate clients. Every firm does it, she said. Then she pushed up the sleeves of her dark green silk jacket, turning up the cuffs to expose the pale lining, and didn’t give Jamie a chance to discuss it further. She went right into the details of the matter at hand.
Despite her puffy eyes, Jamie’s expression told Elaine the girl was paying close attention, trying to find, inside all the legal talk, where the possibility lay of bringing Mandy back to her. Jamie had the impression that the situation was not altogether hopeful, and her fears were confirmed by Elaine’s next words.
“We don’t have a whole lot to work with. Judge Joyner’s decision may have been a model of stupidity”—Elaine was not hiding her contempt for the judge’s incompetence—“but the time permitted for appeal has passed. That is, it’s too late now to change the original order. So now, instead of an appeal, we have to request a modification of the order, based on totally new grounds. A new judge might be sympathetic to your petition to modify, but it’s going to take a whole lot more than sympathy. So let’s look at what we do have going for us.”
She leaned forward, holding up one finger to begin the count of the issues for them. “The first and most important change in your circumstances, Jamie, is that you’re in much better financial shape today than you were two years ago, at the time of the divorce. You have regular income now and steady work. Of course, your work is a little bit unusual, but not so much anymore. That may have been a problem for Joyner, but many women are working construction now, and I
’m sure we can get around that.” Elaine laughed briefly; she had good reason to trust her powers of oral advocacy. “So that’s one. Second”—she raised a second finger—“you’ve managed your money well and you have a substantial amount saved. That’s definitely on your side. We’ll have no trouble showing that you are a responsible woman and that you’re entirely capable, financially, of making a suitable home for Mandy.
“The next thing the judge is going to look at is your present home environment. From what you’ve told me, the home you share with your father is out of the question. So third, you’re going to have to get out of your father’s house immediately and get a suitable place of your own.
“Next, if we can, we want to show that the Nixons’ circumstances have also changed, and in their case, for the worse. Now, didn’t you mention that Mandy said her grandmother had been sick and had to come up to Salt Lake to see a doctor? People don’t travel those distances to come up here unless it’s something serious, something the local doctors can’t handle. Maybe we can get some information along those lines. We might have a shot at convincing the court that the Nixons are no longer suitable custodial substitutes—”
“Ms. French, I know I’d make a whole lot better home for Mandy than Ray’s mother is doing. I know I would!” Jamie surprised herself by her outburst, but it was so hard to be patient, listening to all that legal talk. Still, she heard the rising emotional pitch in her voice and she knew she mustn’t be out of control, so she slowed down, took a breath before she continued.
“I’m sorry, but Edna Nixon makes Mandy feel bad about herself. And bad about me. That’s got to be unhealthy for any child, to feel that way about herself and about her momma.” She leaned forward in the chair, her fists clenched on the black desktop.
“You’re absolutely right, Jamie, and that will be the next thing we do, but we don’t even get to talk about that problem until we first show that circumstances have changed, and I mean changed significantly. Only then, after we convince the court that there’s been a real change, do we get an order for a custody evaluation to find out what’s in Mandy’s best interests. At that point we get the best experts to examine her, and to examine your home and the Nixons’. The other side will try to show that Mandy should stay where she is. Our experts will disagree. The court may appoint its own experts as well. Then all the experts will report their findings to the judge to say which home they think is best suited to Mandy’s emotional development and well-being.”
A Cowboy's Love Page 14
