"I don't know if I'm ready to give them that much freedom in the kitchen." I tucked my cell phone under my ear as I picked up another file. Then grimaced. This one would be a little more complicated. "I better go. I got a file as thick as my forearm I have to work through."
"Well then we'll see you when we see you."
I said goodbye, then ended the call. In spite of all the work that lay ahead of me, I couldn't help but smile at our conversation. He was so easy to be with, so comfortable to talk to.
So what happened to all your other plans? The plans he's trying to talk you out of?
I think one has to be flexible I told myself. One has to realize that sometimes things change.
I picked up a pen to make notes on the file and as I did, my mind drifted back to last night. Necking in a truck at the Lookout point like any giddy teenager.
And like any giddy teenager, I caught myself reliving the kisses and feeling a small delightful shiver. Then the phone rang again, reality intruded, and I got back to work.
I finally made it home at about six o'clock. When I stepped into the house, I was surprised to smell onions and bacon cooking. My mouth watered, and I realized why my brothers were always so excited when I fried up onions.
I toed my shoes off and stretched my feet, thankful to be out of my constricting heels. I dropped my briefcase on a nearby bench and just before I entered the kitchen I heard Carter talking to Chip.
"Does Dani know?"
I stopped right there, guessing from the gruff tone in Carter's voice that maybe Dani didn't want to know. But I stayed where I was, knowing that if I came into the kitchen Dani would never know.
"I doubt it. I don't think James told her yet."
And didn't that sound ominous.
I wanted to charge into the kitchen, grab my brothers and shake the truth out of them. But again, I knew I wouldn't find anything out if I did that. So I stayed put, feeling like the eavesdropper I was.
"But it's happening this weekend," Carter said, his words punctuated by the sound of a frying pan hitting the stove. "He's got to tell her sooner or later."
"What does it matter when she finds out? I mean he's gotta compete. It's the first rodeo of the season, and if he misses it he'll start too far back in the rankings."
The words compete, and rodeo rang in my tired brain as chilly fingers traced an icy path down my spine.
And then came the thought that James hadn't mentioned this at all.
And why should he? He knew nothing about Wyatt.
Well maybe he should. He was so eager to make me change my plans, what about him taking my needs into consideration?
I marched into the kitchen and was rewarded with a guilty look from each of my brothers.
"Hey, Dani," Chip said with forced cheerfulness. "Didn't think you'd be back so soon."
"Actually it's a little later than usual," I told him.
"We're busy making supper," Carter said, giving me a broad grin as he brandished a knife. "It'll be ready in about twenty minutes if you want to go sit in the living room with dad."
What I really wanted to do was march over to the other house and ask James what was going on.
Do you have any right?
Did he have any right to talk about my job and my life? To make it sound like he knew everything about me when he didn't?
"So, when were you going to tell me about the rodeo?" I said, deciding to go directly to the point I knew they wanted to avoid.
Chip and Carter exchanged horrified glances, which made me even angrier. They knew. They knew exactly why this might be hard for me and yet they felt they had to hide it.
"We didn't think you cared," Carter mumbled, turning back to his chopping. "I mean, you've never come to any of our rodeos before."
"You know why, right?" I challenged them.
Chip shrugged, looking a little ashamed. "Well, we kind of thought you might be over that by now."
That.
Like the pain of losing Wyatt was easily condensed into one month. Maybe I should have been, and in some ways I was. But there was more going on than they realized. And I wasn't about to tell them that right now.
"It's still hard," I said, thankful my voice didn't waver.
"Neil doesn't talk about it," Chip said. As if that was enough to convince me.
"So I'm guessing that James is competing this weekend," I said. "I'm also guessing you guys didn't want me to know."
Silence followed this. Then Chip gave me a wounded look, the kind that could always get to me. "We weren't trying to lie to you--”
"James has to compete this weekend. He needs to get a jump on the ranking. You know how this works," Carter put in, interrupting Chip.
Trouble was I knew exactly how this worked. I know exactly how a lot of things in my brothers’ lives worked, but they never seem to extend me the same consideration. In spite of the fact that they were making supper right now.
I looked from Chip to Carter, biting my lip, trying to figure out what to do.
"Well maybe I better go talk to James myself," I said.
Carter shook his head, "please don't do that."
"Why not?"
"You might talk him out of it," Carter said.
His comment surprised me. I didn't think I had any influence with James. But my brother seem to think I did.
The thought gave me a small measure of hope.
"I think I might go over there," I said. "I might not be back for supper."
I walked back to the porch, buoyed by the thought I might have some influence in one man's life.
James was watching television when I came into the house. Sherri wasn't anywhere to be seen, so I guessed she was upstairs sleeping.
He jumped to his feet. "You here already? I just saw your car pull in."
The fact that he'd been watching me made me smile.
"I did actually," I said moving further into the living room. I took a chance, walked right up to him, wrapped my arms around him and gave him a kiss.
This felt right.
He returned my kiss, holding me close. Then he brushed his lips over my forehead and pulled back looking at me with surprise. "What brought that on?"
"I dunno, I just thought I'd give into an impulse. Embrace my wild side, like you're always encouraging me to do," I said with a grin.
"I like that you take my advice," he said sitting on the couch and pulling me down beside him. He picked up the remote and turned off the television. "I doubt you came over here to watch the playoffs with me."
"Who's winning?"
"Anaheim," he said with a grimace.
"Maybe just leave it off then," I returned with a chuckle.
"So, I'm glad you came here early," he said. "Did you have supper already?"
"No, the boys are making it right now. Another pleasant surprise," I said.
"Another? What was the first one," he asked.
I laid my head against his chest, toying with the button of his shirt. I wasn't sure , how to proceed. My brother seemed sure I could have some sway over James's decision.
I wasn't sure how to start, so I decided to just plunge right in. "The boys said you'll be riding in the rodeo this weekend.”
"That's right." He was quiet, as if unsure where I was going.
He sounded defensive. For a moment I wondered if my brothers were right.
"Would you consider not doing it?" I asked.
James straightened, and sat up, his hands on my shoulders. He frowned his puzzlement. "What are you asking?"
I sat up as well, sensing his retreat. "I thought it was pretty straightforward. I was asking you if you would consider not riding in the rodeo."
"Why would you ask that of me?"
He didn't look so pleasant now and I became frustrated. It was so easy for him to give me advice and to tell me what to do, but it didn't seem to go the other way.
"You sound like it's important to you," I said.
"It is."
"Why?" I sen
sed there was more to his answer than the whole macho tough guy thing that my brothers always talked about when I asked them why they would climb on rank broncs every weekend.
James was quiet a moment, and he looked away as if seeing something else.
"My dad was a champion saddle bronc rider," James said. "He and my mother died on their way to the national finals. He was getting too old to ride, but this was his last chance to make it to the NFR. They never made it. A drunk driver slammed into them and they were both instantly killed. I always promised myself I’d finish what he started."
I heard an unspoken pain in his words and felt a tremble of answering hurt. "It's that important to you?"
"It's why I've been doing what I've been doing the past few years," James said. His voice held a note of finality and his eyes blazed with the determination that I often saw in my brother's eyes. And I knew in that moment he wasn't budging. He was convicted, and he had a reason I couldn't argue with.
The thought slammed into me with the force of a runaway bull. I looked up into his eyes and felt a twist of pain and regret and a sense of loss.
"I can see from the look on your face that this will be a problem," James said, a hard note entering his voice.
"It's been a problem from the first time I found out you ride saddle broncs."
"Then why bring it up now? It's not like we didn't have a chance to talk about this."
Because I didn't think I would fall for you.
But I couldn't tell him that right now.
"Why is this such a big deal?" he insisted. "Your brothers do exactly the same thing I do, and don't tell me it's this whole Man vs Guy thing you've got going. Because I think there's something else happening."
I had kept thoughts of Wyatt so close to myself that to release them now felt like I'd be pulling my arm off. But as I saw the frustrated anger in his eyes, my own resistance rose.
"Did my brothers ever tell you about Wyatt?" I said, pushing back the encroaching pain the eternal guilt that came with it.
"Who the heck is Wyatt?"
Guess not.
"Wyatt was a boyfriend I was quite serious about. He rode saddle bronc's as well. He and Neil were good buddies. They always helped each other in the chutes, encouraged each other from the sidelines. I went to every rodeo he rode in. Didn't matter where it was, I went. I watched him break his arm, twist his ankle, get a concussion..." My voice faltered, and I wondered if I could keep this up.
"It's all part of the job," James said with a note of frustration in his voice. "I busted up a couple ribs, sprained an ankle."
At least he didn't list off his injuries like they were some badge of courage like my brothers would. I could give him that.
I wondered if I should even bother to tell him. It seemed like such a waste of time. But I felt like I owed him the truth.
"So did you see this Wyatt guy get hurt?"
This Wyatt guy. Like I didn't have so many emotions tangled up in his life and death.
I pulled in a long slow breath, folding my ice cold hands on my lap as I sifted back to that day, now seared into my memories.
"Wyatt wasn't doing well that weekend. He had fallen down in the rankings and I knew he was getting angry and frustrated. Then on the Saturday night, he drew a rank bronc. The horse’s name was Ticket to Ride. Everybody knew about that horse, he had his own reputation. But Wyatt climbed aboard and settled in. I had such a bad feeling about it all. The horse tried to climb out of the chute and was causing all kinds of trouble; they couldn't seem to get him ready. I knew they would offer him a re-ride on another animal, but he shook it off. I think he figured if he rode this horse and did it successfully he would do better in the rankings. They finally got things settled and when they opened the gate that horse blew out of there like it was its first time. Wyatt rode him for seven seconds and then he got bucked off, and as he did the horse spun and kicked him in the head." I swallowed, reliving that whole moment. All the fear and frustration and guilt washing through me once again. I clenched my hand even tighter.
"And then what happened?" James asked.
I swallowed down a knot of pain and anger, lifted my head and looked him straight in the eye. "He died right there on the arena floor."
James sucked in a quick breath, his eyes wide with shock. "I'm so sorry..." his voice trailed off and he lifted a hand as if to reach out and connect with me.
"And that's why I can't do this," I said getting up to leave. If he touched me. If he pulled me into his arms I knew I would give in. I couldn't.
"I can't do this again." I repeated as I held his gaze, wondering if he would react, wondering what he would say. Wondering if he would change his mind.
He stood as well, his hands planted on his hips, a gesture of defiance if ever there was one, and looked me in the eye. "That won't happen to me," he said.
And how many times hadn't I heard that? How many times didn't I have to listen to my brothers telling me it was a mistake that had gotten them injured. That if they had spurred harder, leaned back better, dismounted differently, been picked up quicker. There was always an excuse. Always a reason. I'd seen too much, and I wasn't going through that again. Not with James.
Yet, as I looked into the depths of his deep brown eyes, as my gaze skimmed his lips, his broad shoulders, as I thought of how he held me close I wondered if I could follow through on my pronouncement. Could I walk away from him? As I looked at him, scenes flashed through my head. Him holding Sherry, making supper, teasing me about my brothers. The side of him I fell in love with, the part of him that was all man without a trace of guy.
But right behind that came the unwanted picture of Wyatt lying in the sawdust, unmoving. I close my eyes squeezing my eyelids against the image hoping to erase it and as I did so, that figure morphed into James and my heart hardened.
"So you can tell me what you think I should do, but I can't tell you?"
“I had so many years of taking care of other people that riding is the only place I feel in charge. The only place I can be me. The only time I really feel alive.”
“You don’t need to risk your life to feel like you’re alive,” I said, pain entering my voice.
“Maybe not, but I certainly don’t need one more person telling me what to do.”
And I certainly don’t need one more guy ignoring what I want and what I need.
We stared at each other, glared at each other, at an impasse.
I wasn’t giving in. James had created this monster. He was the one who had encouraged me to stand up to my brothers and stand up for myself. I was doing precisely that.
"It's not the same thing," he said, his voice changing tone, as if realizing how he sounded. "This has nothing to do with you."
"It concerns you, therefore I think it does have something to do with me."
I couldn't believe I had put myself out there like that.
"What do you mean?"
Surely he wasn't that dense? Surely the kisses we had shared, the times we had spent together weren't just him passing the time away? He had told me the bet wasn't real, that he was with me because he wanted to.
Had I read more into the situation than was there?
"You told me you care about me," I said, facing him down. "Was that true?"
He nodded. "It's true. Every word."
"And what I want doesn't matter?"
"I told you, it's not the same."
"Of course not."
"Are you still going to your fancy city job?"
Really? He actually dared bring that up again?
"You are unbelievable."
"Are you?"
I looked at him, his unyielding stance, his unyielding words.
"I don't see why not? I don't think I have any reason to stick around." I spat out the words like they were poison and then I saw him pull back.
"Well, good luck with that. I'd say I hope you'll be happy, but I doubt you will."
"Don't. Just don't pretend you know me or care. Y
ou know nothing. You're no different than my brothers."
And with that I turned and walked away.
He didn't come running after me, he didn't call out telling me he understood why I wanted him to listen to me. To pay attention to the pain and loss I had just spilled in front of him.
All I got was a hard and heavy silence swirling in my wake as I let myself out of his house.
I stalked across the yard, anger building with every step. I knew I couldn't go into the house and face my brothers.
As I got into my car, I was numb and could only think of what I needed to do next. Turn on the key, put the car in drive, leave.
But as I drove down the driveway, I felt like I had no place to go. My home was behind me, and the dazzling future that I thought was so bright didn't shine so brilliantly anymore.
And I wished it didn't matter so much.
By the time I came back home, the windows of my house were dark. Everyone was in bed.
I glanced over at James’s house, and I saw a light shining from his bedroom. Was he thinking about what I had asked him?
Then I thought again of the conviction in his voice, the absolute force of will that seemed to push at me when he spoke of why he needed to do this. I couldn't fight a legacy, I didn't dare.
I guess I had hoped that my wishes meant as much to him as his wishes had meant to me.
Where do I go now?
I rested my hands on my steering wheel, laying my forehead on my wrists.
Dear Lord, help me to trust in you. Help me not to put my happiness and my contentment on people but to know that only through you can I get perfect peace.
I let the prayer settle a moment, then got out of the car.
I quietly let myself into the house, kicked my shoes off again, and walked into the kitchen adjoining the entrance.
"You're home late," a voice spoke from the living room.
I stifled a scream, spinning around in time to see my brother Neil get up from his chair and walk over to me.
"I went for a drive," I said, wrapping chilly arms around my midsection.
"Carter and Chip made supper," Neil said.
"I wasn't hungry," I said in reply.
"Well you didn't miss much." Neil chuckled. "I'm not sure what they had made, I think it was mostly bacon and onions with some chunks of potato. Heavy on the starch, low on the greens."
Any Man of Mine (Holmes Crossing Book 5) Page 19
