Rough Creek

by Kaki Warner

She held up her index finger.

  “If you’re trying to flip me off, you’re doing it wrong.”

  She poked the ignition button. The car rumbled to life. “That’s how.”

  “I punched that thing at least ten times. It doesn’t work.”

  “That’s because I keep this in my purse, not the car.” She held up the fob that activated the keyless ignition. She wondered what else he might have missed while he was in prison, other than a contentious election and a slump in cattle prices.

  “Can we go now? Or do you need to get your hair done?”

  “Yes, we can go now.”

  And they did.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Honey, we’re home,” Dalton sang out when Joss opened the door to Room 213.

  “Asshat,” Raney muttered, nudging him in the back with the Walmart bags. She hadn’t let him carry any because of his swollen hands, bless her heart.

  “Mercy sakes, you’ve changed,” Joss exclaimed as he walked in. “And I’m not just talking about the yellow jacket lumps.”

  “Does that mean you like me better now?”

  “Why, I think I do.” Joss winked at him and twirled a lock of multicolored hair. Green, blue, and bright pink. And lots of curls. It looked like a clown wig.

  “Don’t get bigheaded,” Raney muttered to him as she kicked the door shut and dumped the bags on the nearest queen bed. “She says that to all the guys.” After separating her stuff from his, she picked up his bags and asked her sister for the key card to the adjoining room.

  Joss handed her two. “I had an extra-large robe sent up.” She gave Dalton another once-over and a smile. “Hope it fits.”

  Before he could voice any of the half-dozen clever quips rattling through his head, Raney herded him into the adjoining room, kicked the door closed, and tossed his bag of clothes onto the single king bed. “Best lock it. She might not be able to help herself now that she likes you better.”

  “Good point.”

  Raney looked at him like she thought he was serious. When she saw he wasn’t, she allowed a small smile. The woman hoarded her smiles like treasure. But when he finally did manage to get one, Dalton felt he’d been given something special.

  Raney picked out all the medical stuff, carried it into the bathroom, and dumped it into the sink. Alcohol, ammonia, cotton balls, baking soda, a box of Epsom salts, bottles of ibuprofen and Benadryl, a small tube of toothpaste, and a Mickey Mouse toothbrush.

  Dalton held up the toothbrush and met her smirk with a grin. “Just like the one I have at home. Timmy got it for me for Christmas.”

  Her smirk faded. “Really?”

  “No.”

  With an unladylike snort, she bent over and started filling the tub. An inspiring view of a truly fine butt. Or it would have been if he’d felt any better. As the tub filled, she went back into the bedroom and returned with a white robe, which she hung on the hook by the tub. “If it doesn’t fit, wear it backward. I wouldn’t want her to jump you.”

  “I’ll try, but sometimes I can’t—”

  “The boxers, T-shirt, and socks are on the bed.” She opened the Epsom salt box, poured a goodly amount into the water, bent over again to slosh it around—to his delight—then turned the water off and straightened.

  “Stay in as long as you can,” she said, all business and nursely concern. “After you’re finished, dry off real well, then dab on the ammonia or alcohol. While that’s drying, make a paste with water and baking soda. Dab that on, let it dry, then rinse it off, and dab on the ammonia again. Just before you go to bed, take two ibuprofen and another Benadryl. If you have any trouble breathing or swallowing, or if your throat feels thick, come get me. Good night.”

  “Could you repeat that?”

  “No.” She left, closing the door behind her. Both doors.

  Dalton sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots. He felt like hammered shit. Yet knowing Raney was nearby helped. They’d been together in the car for six straight hours and it felt odd to be apart. Which was odd in itself.

  After his soak, he stood at the sink and dabbed every red place he could see. It stung, but not too bad. He only found eight spots, which meant there were several he couldn’t see. He debated bothering Raney about it, then heard noises on the other side of the wall and figured she wasn’t asleep yet. Either that, or she was moving furniture against the adjoining door.

  He pulled on his new boxers—UT Longhorns—really?—then his jeans, left the robe, and padded barefoot out of the bathroom, ammonia and cotton ball in hand. After opening the first adjoining door, he listened at the one into their room, heard them talking, and knocked with his elbow.

  Joss opened the door. Behind her, Raney disappeared into the bathroom. Both wore T-shirts and flannel shorts under robes like his. Raney’s legs were amazing.

  Joss stared at his chest, then her gaze did a quick drop to where his buckle would be if he’d had on a belt, then across his shoulders, and finally up to his face. It happened so fast he didn’t have time to flex.

  Then he saw Raney coming out of the bathroom, and all thoughts of trying to impress her sister fled. She looked exhausted. Drained. Like maybe she had been crying again. That concerned him, but he knew better than to comment on it.

  He held up the ammonia bottle. “I only found eight.” Then before her sister could offer to help, he turned and walked back into his bathroom.

  “I can’t reach the ones on my shoulders in back,” he said to the mirror when Raney walked in behind him, closing the door so they could move around in the small space.

  “Turn around so I can check the others.”

  He faced her. She was so close he could smell the shampoo in her damp hair and the same soap he’d used in his bath. He watched her face as she gently brushed her palm over the bumps on his chest, then up to those on his neck and shoulder, and down to others on his right arm.

  It was torture. Especially the way her eyes followed the sweep of her fingers over his skin. He understood now why dogs craved the stroke of the human hand. Although not in the way he was craving this.

  “The bath seems to have helped,” she said in an odd voice as she took her hand away. “Did you try the baking soda paste?”

  He cleared his throat. “On those I could reach.”

  Her gaze flew up to his. Blue as a mountain lake. Or a hot summer sky. He watched a furrow build between those remarkable eyes and wanted to rub his thumb over it to make it go away.

  “You sound hoarse,” she said. “Is your throat okay? Are you breathing okay?”

  Not now. “I’m fine.” He thrust the bottle and cotton ball toward her.

  “Did you get the back of your arms?” she asked.

  “Those I found.”

  “Turn around.”

  He faced the mirror again. Not as much fun. He could barely see the top of her head above his shoulder. Her hair was lighter when it was dry, almost the color of light amber ale but with blond streaks where the sun bleached it. He doubted the color came from a bottle.

  She dampened the cotton ball with ammonia and started dabbing. “They look a lot better than they did. Does it sting?”

  He shrugged and tried to focus on the molding above the mirror, rather than the warm whisper of her breath against his back.

  “Mama would put ammonia on any kind of bite. Especially itchy mosquito bites. It helped.” She ran her left hand up the back of his neck to push hair out of her way and dabbed at his hairline.

  It was just a hand. Barbers had touched his neck plenty of times. But none had ever made him feel like this.

  She moved to the back of his other arm. He shifted so he could see her face in the mirror. The furrow on her brow was deeper and her lips were pursed in concentration as she dabbed away. Her eyes seemed slightly swollen and he thought again that she might have been crying. O
ver him?

  The thought spread through him in a warm rush.

  “I’m sorry I overreacted,” she said. “The EMTs probably thought I was crazy.”

  “I doubt it.” They were probably as hot for her as he was. “They said if you hadn’t given me the antihistamine, it could have been a lot worse.”

  She shot him a glance. “You heard that? I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was resting up. In case I had to fight them off.”

  She made that snort again and resumed dabbing. “I doubt you were in any danger.”

  “I meant fight them off of you.”

  She didn’t say anything, but he was rewarded with a slow flush of color across her cheeks. “Why were you so worried?” he asked on impulse. “You don’t seem the type to overreact.”

  “I usually don’t. Joss and Len are the hysterics. Mostly Joss.”

  “So why did you?”

  “It’s complicated. You can turn around now. I think I got them all.”

  He stepped back as she dropped the cotton ball in the trash. She looked like she might say more, so he waited. But when she finally spoke, her words surprised him.

  “It was Daddy all over again.” He watched her blink hard against tears. “I didn’t want anyone else to die while I sat there and did nothing.”

  “Sweetheart.”

  “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

  He put his arms around her and pulled her in until her forehead butted against this chest. “Sweetheart,” he murmured again, gently stroking her back. “I’m okay. Because of you, I’m all right.”

  She nestled closer so that her cheek lay above his thundering heart. She wasn’t wearing a bra under her T-shirt and the soft press of her breasts against his bare chest was a whole different kind of torture.

  A moment later, she let go a deep breath and slid her arms around his waist. “I was so scared, Dalton.”

  “I know.”

  “I didn’t want you to die, too.”

  He pulled back, not far enough to break her hold, but so he could see her face. “Look at me,” he said.

  She hesitated, then raised her head and looked at him.

  She seemed so wounded. He wondered how such a strong woman could be brought so low, and was touched that she was allowing him to see it.

  “What you went through with your dad was terrible, Raney. And I hate that you carry that memory in your head. But it wasn’t your fault he died. Or his fault that he left you. Shit happens and you can only do your best to get past it.”

  He watched tears build. He could drown in those eyes. Lose himself forever without even putting up a fight. “Now brace yourself, sweetheart, because this is important.”

  “Don’t call me—”

  He dipped his head and kissed her.

  She went stiff in his arms. But her lips were as soft as he remembered. Still trembly, a little salty from her tears, but not reluctant. Which made him bolder. He kept kissing her, trying not to rush her, but not wanting to stop, either. Then she brought her hands up, palms flat against his chest. He thought she was telling him to back off and started to do so, when her arms slid up and around his neck.

  His thoughts scattered. It was the kind of kiss a man in prison dreamed of. Slow and sweet and perfect in every way because the woman in his arms was the only one he wanted there.

  When she finally drew back, they were both out of breath. She ran her hands down to his elbows and back to his shoulders. He almost shivered at the contact. “You’re so lumpy and swollen.”

  “Your fault.” He tried to kiss her again, but she backed off even more.

  Despite the amusement in her eyes, she gave him what he’d come to think of as The Raney Look of Disapproval. “I was talking about the yellow jacket lumps.”

  “Me, too,” he lied, and was going in for another try when her sister’s voice sounded on the other side of the bathroom door.

  “Raney, you two better stop whatever you’re doing in there. Mama’s on the phone and I can’t hold her off any longer.”

  * * *

  * * *

  The ride back to Rough Creek was long and uneventful. They left early to avoid commuter traffic and were out of Waco and heading north by eight o’clock. As expected, Joss took shotgun and Raney drove, while Dalton sprawled in the bucket seat behind Joss. Raney couldn’t see him in the rearview mirror because of the angle. But she could feel him back there, like a watchful presence just out of sight and waiting to pounce. It made her nervous.

  She didn’t lack experience with men. She’d even been engaged once—for all of two weeks. But Dalton was a different kind of animal altogether.

  For one thing, he was older than she was. Not by much, but between his tour in Iraq and his time in prison, his realm of experience was much broader and harsher than hers. That made him an unknown entity. He had seen violence and death. He had caused one death here, and probably more in Iraq, and that had to affect a person. Yet, he didn’t want to talk about it, so how could she ever know him, or learn to trust him, if he kept that part of himself closed off?

  She liked things neat and orderly. Especially emotion. But with Dalton, she could sense control slipping away. He infuriated her. Shocked her. Made her laugh and feel things she didn’t understand. Dalton was chaos. That frightened her.

  And yet . . .

  She glanced up and was startled to find him looking back at her in the rearview mirror. He had shifted so that he had a clear line of sight, which meant she did, too.

  He winked at her then waggled his dark eyebrows like a flirtatious used car salesman. It was so unexpected and absurd she almost burst out laughing.

  Meanwhile, oblivious to the foolishness going on behind her, Joss went on a rant about having to leave so early they couldn’t even order real room service but had to settle for muffins and yogurt, then moved seamlessly into a rambling monologue about her concerts, the songs she was writing, the dear friends who had abandoned her in the Walmart parking lot, and whether she should name her daughter Aria or Melody or Star.

  “Actually, they didn’t abandon me,” she admitted in hour two. “I was tired of arguing with Grady, so I got off the bus.”

  “And they drove away?” Dalton asked from the backseat.

  “I insisted. That much tension isn’t good for the baby.”

  “But being stranded in a Walmart parking lot is?” Raney muttered.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Raney. You never get worked up about anything except your horses and the ranch.”

  “I’ve seen her worked up,” Dalton said. “It was something I’ll never forget.”

  Raney glared at him in the mirror.

  He waggled his brows again.

  “When?” Joss asked.

  “Yesterday. When the yellow jackets were chasing me. At first, she laughed. But when she saw all the bites, she got so worried she cried. Bless her heart.”

  “Raney doesn’t cry.”

  “That’s what she said. But there you have it. Tears everywhere. I thought it was sweet.”

  Raney flexed her hands on the steering wheel, wishing it were Dalton’s throat instead.

  “Who’s Grady?” Dalton asked in hour three after they’d stopped at a gas station outside of Abilene for gas and snacks and yet another potty break for Joss.

  “Just a guy.” Her sister flipped her hand in a dismissive motion. “A very bossy guy who thinks he knows best about everything.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Raney gave Dalton a please don’t encourage her look in the mirror.

  “Why not?” he asked Joss.

  “I’m tired of him telling me what to do, what not to do, what to eat, what not to eat—the man acts like he’s my mother, for heaven’s sake.”

 
“Maybe he’s got the hots for you.”

  “Well, I don’t have the hots for him. Are there any chips left?”

  Dalton gave up talking to Joss and went back to staring at Raney in the mirror.

  She ignored him as best she could.

  They were almost to Gunther and had a little over thirty minutes to go when Joss brought up the subject Raney had hoped to avoid. “So, Dalton,” her sister began with a sideways smirk at Raney. “What’s between you and my big sister?”

  “Nothing,” Raney blurted out before Dalton could say anything.

  Dalton gave a hearty laugh that sounded fake to Raney. “Your sister’s just being modest. There’s a lot between Raney and me. Especially yesterday.”

  Joss perked up. “Really? What happened?”

  “For one thing, she saved my life. And then later—”

  “Dalton,” Raney cut in. “Let’s not make a big deal out of something so trivial.”

  “Trivial? How can you say that, Raney? It was one of the most inspiring moments of my life. You seemed pretty moved, too.” He was all but rocking in his seat with suppressed laughter.

  “What’d she do?” Joss asked.

  It took him a moment to get himself in hand. “Well, after the yellow jacket attack and she was through laughing at me and crying, she made me take two Benadryls. The EMTs said I might have gone into shock and died if she hadn’t.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “It was,” Dalton agreed. “You know, in some cultures, Joss, if you save a person’s life, you’re responsible for them forever.”

  “I thought it was the other way around.”

  “Nobody’s responsible for anybody,” Raney snapped, needing to put a stop to this before it went too far. “And you weren’t anywhere near dying, Dalton. Not then, at least. But there’s still time.”

  Joss gave her a shocked look.

  Dalton laughed silently.

  Raney drove faster.

  They turned through the front gate just before one o’clock. Joss had called ahead to Mama to make sure there would be something to eat, since “mean ole Raney was so desperate to get home she barely let us pee, much less get anything decent to eat.”