Chapter Two

Friday had been spent with Paige driving while Carrie scribbled notes on scenery, people and the idiosyncrasies of the Hill Country lifestyle. She had listened to locals in shops, on the street and at the ranch, got a feel for their voices and their gestures, the way they dressed and moved, while Paige had witnessed it all with her usual cynicism. A couple of hours back at the ranch and a quick supper reheated from yesterday’s leftovers, and they had headed out once more.

Now, oncoming lights glared and then fell again across the bug-speckled windshield as she gripped the wheel and grimaced into the dark. In the early May night, the windows were open and, as successive cars passed them, bursts of music or laughter came and went, momentary images in a moving peepshow. The warm breath of night tampered with her short hair.

“Why did you want to go to this joint outside of Bandera? I thought Luckenbach was the place to be.”

Paige’s voice competed with the radio, and Carrie reached out and turned it down. “Yes, but Bandera is the supposed ‘cowboy capital of the world.’ We can go to Luckenbach tomorrow perhaps, although that Doris woman said there is a dance at the ranch we should attend. Let’s see what happens tomorrow.”

The GPS suddenly advised them to make a left-hand turn in 200 yards. “Do you think that’s right?” Paige asked. “That Jake guy said a GPS didn’t work out here.”

“No, he said it didn’t work on ranch roads,” corrected Carrie as she executed the left. “See, there it is. I guess. My gosh, look at this lot.”

An oversized barn stood alone on the roadside, strings of lights scalloping the roof and windows, enhanced only by flashing beer advertisement signs. Cars, pickups and motorbikes surrounded the building, parked everywhere and every which way without any sense of order: down the road, on the grass, facing front, facing back, sideways on. Stetsons bobbed and nodded to some imaginary tune while small groups gathered on car hoods or tailgates, or stood holding drinks. Cigarettes produced low clouds of hazy smoke while staccato shots of laughter punctuated conversations drifting out into a hum of night music.

Carrie slowed the car down for fear of hitting someone while searching for a sensible place to park, but she was well past the dancehall before she steered off the road and brought the car to a halt. She let out a breath as if exerted from difficult exercise, then snapped down her vanity mirror to check her face.

“I don’t know why you didn’t let me drive. You hate driving when you don’t know the route.”

“It’s fine. Here,” she said, holding the keys out to her daughter, “you can drive back.”

Paige gave the keys a dirty look. “I thought you were going to drive back so I could drink.”

“It’s fine then—”

Her daughter grabbed the keys out of her hand and threw open the door before stepping out with an unmistakable air of annoyance.

“Paige—I’ll drive back. Give me back the keys.” Carrie got out on her side, glancing around while adjusting her shirt and smoothing her jeans. She reached back into the car for a small bag and hefted it over her shoulder before shutting the door and peering over the car roof to her daughter. “Paige? I said I’d drive back.”

“Never mind. We’ll see later. I’ll keep the keys.”

The car beeped to announce it was locked.

Carrie picked her way down the road behind her daughter, a Hansel and Gretel line of cigarette butts marking the path. She was all too aware of the brief halts in conversations as revelers scrutinized them, studied them, then returned to focus on someone else.

A strong sense of not belonging hit her, of being out of place, but Paige was bolder than she. She followed closely as her daughter broke through the groups on the porch and swung into the noise of the dancehall. Guitar and fiddle had feet tapping and bodies moving in time to the tune. Paige led the way along the edge of the floor, trying to avoid the contact that a collision might bring. Carrie could see men scan them over, probably finding them an odd pair to be out together. And she could figure most of the cowboys were in their twenties or thirties, for which she was grateful; it would mean no one would ask her to dance. A couple of drinks at the bar for the purposes of research, then home to the ranch suited her fine.

Paige elbowed into the bar crowd which shimmied over to make room, one cowboy nodding to her before Carrie pushed forward. He tipped his hat with another nod and moved away to let her stand next to her daughter, bent across the bar trying to get the bartender’s attention.

“My gawd,” breathed Carrie, fanning herself with her hand. “It certainly is hot in here.”

****

When his father asked Jake if he would like to join him for a few drinks over at Mulligan’s, his favorite bar, he had been faced with a conundrum. An evening at Mulligan’s would end with his dad’s usual binge whether he was with him or not. And if Jake left his father on his own, he would probably return to the same scene encountered last night. The Stagecoach dance hall was more like a compromise; while he couldn’t babysit his father or force him into sobriety, perhaps more of a social life would get his mind off the past, the divorce and Robbie, and his drinking would reduce. Maybe, with a bit of mixing with people, getting out and about, his father would drink less.

His dad had agreed to go, in order, he’d pronounced, to spend some time with Jake.

But his scheme wasn’t proceeding well. His dad had made a head start on drinking and loaded some more beers into the pickup. Nothing Jake could say or do at that point was going to change his father’s attitude. This resulted in his dad pressed into a back corner of the dancehall taking a pull on his beer while Jake leaned against the wall surveying the crowd.

“Glad you came?” he ventured, studying his father’s face for a moment before turning back to the scene.

“Was that a question or a statement?” his father probed, his mouth slightly puckered. “I guess it’s good to get out some, though I’m a mite long in the tooth for this lot, Jake.”

“Why don’t you ask someone to dance?”

“What? A twenty year old? No thanks. I like women, real women, not a babe in arms.”

Jake let a smudge of impatience cross his face before he straightened, stretching a bit to see through the dancers. Exasperated, he came to the realization his idea had gone awry and been a bit optimistic. He knew now he should have stopped his father from loading the extra six-pack into the pickup and more staunchly denied there’d be any problem in getting a drink at the bar. And to make matters worse, to his own reluctance, he had proved his father wrong by getting two bottles straight away, and then noticed the hip flask tucked in his father’s back pocket. There seemed to be no answer to stopping his father’s drinking.

A two-step played and, as dancers circled around, the crowd at the bar came in and out of view, a curtain opening and shutting. Jake wiped the sweat from his beer bottle on to his jeans as he took in the scene.

“Good lord, that’s them,” he said to no one in particular.

“That’s who?” His father’s hand tapped around his back pocket, probably checking his flask.

“Those women—the ones who gave me a ride. The mother and daughter.” He studied Paige for a second, her animated features making her seem more approachable than she had been in the car. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

“Oh, no.” His father shook his head. “You go ahead, son. I think I’ll get me some fresh air and—”

“You’re going to get another drink.” His aggravation took a moment to settle. “Look, join us. Come on, they won’t bite.”

His father bent his head slightly. “No, you go on. I’ll be outside. I’m not fighting this crowd tonight. You go. But don’t drink too much—you’re driving.”

Reluctantly, Jake moved off, weaving in and out of dancers to get up to the bar. For a moment, he glanced back, just in time to see his father slip out the front door. He turned again and made his way forward toward Carrie and Paige.

“Hey,” he nudged the mother a bit as he prodded another man aside to stand next to her. “How you doin’?”

Carrie faced him with a blank expression before realization dawned. “Oh! Jake, isn’t it? I didn’t recognize you for a moment without your army fatigues. How are you?”

Paige leaned across the older woman as he tried to catch her eye. Her brow crinkled before she straightened.

“Look, Paige. Look who it is.” She jabbed her daughter with her elbow before turning back to him. “You seem so different with the Stetson on and all, not to mention the five o’clock shadow.”

“More like nine o’clock,” he corrected, rubbing his hand over his bristles. “How you both enjoying Texas then? How’s the ranch?”

Carrie moved slightly so Jake was better able to see Paige.

“Ranch is fine. Texas is great—what we’ve seen of it.” She took a sip of her wine. “Are you settling in again? It must be strange to be back home.”

“No, not strange. Well,” he added, “not too strange.” He tried to gauge her daughter’s reaction, but she’d hidden herself once more behind Carrie. “You enjoying yourself, Paige?” He stretched to address her, hoping she might pay him some attention.

“Yes. It’s all right.” She looked askance at him for a moment, then back at her glass. “It’s fine,” she mumbled.

“Do you come here…” Carrie’s voice trailed off as she suddenly reached into her bag to jerk out her phone. She held it out to see the number. “Oh dear, I better take this. It’s my agent. Sorry.”

Jake watched her clamp the phone to her ear and make her way out through the crowd to the door.

****

Ray grabbed three cans of beer from the cooler in the back of his truck, refilled his now empty hip flask and took a swig from a bottle of Jack for good measure. He sauntered back to the hall porch, finding a place off on the side where he could settle. His long legs dangled into some bushes, but when the couple who sat next to him got up to go back inside, he shimmied himself over to the wall of the building and leaned back, beer cans in his lap. The door was constantly whining open and shut, emitting disjointed shots of country music.

For a moment, he considered jamming the door open when a tall woman came out, phone plastered to ear. She stood by the pillar at the end of the porch. Native American turquoise jewelry decked her wrist and neck, while a crisp, white blouse was tied at her waist over some sort of tee or camisole. Jeans, a bit too clean, were finished off with an expensive-looking pair of what were no doubt Lucchese or Tony Roma boots, and a small, expensive-looking bag hung over her shoulder. The face was older, probably near his age but well cared for, little make up, good skin, cropped blond hair.

Ray took it all in and decided she was what he might call ‘well turned out’ in a sort of fake western way. For a while, he considered the familiarity of her, then it dawned on him—she was the mother, the writer, Carrie Bennett. The one who’d been sitting in the car when Jake got out. Well, if there was a word for a fake Texan—like ‘buckle bunny,’ no, ‘wannabe,’ that’s it, a cowgirl wannabe—she was it.

As the woman leaned back against the pillar, her gaze caught Ray’s scrutinizing glance. She whirled back around and stepped down off the porch, taking a few steps into the dark.

“Oh, hell, I’m losing you, Jason, hang on.” Forced to move back to the porch, she stood just below the pillar with an unsuccessful effort not to shout to make herself heard. “Did you say Diane Keaton and Tommy Lee Jones? Wow, that’s amazing. What a cast! Gosh, thanks so much for calling…and on a Friday night.” There was a break while the voice on the other end replied before she said, “Okay, great. I’ll speak to you on Tuesday then, and we can tie things up. I’ll be in your office at eleven.” The phone bleeped off. She drew in a deep breath of satisfaction before hoisting herself back onto the side of the porch, stumbling slightly.

“Whoa there, cowgirl.” Ray reached a hand forward to steady her.

“Thanks.” She stared down at him for a moment and blinked, a flash of recognition crossing her face.

“Sounds like a good cast. One of my favorite actors, Tommy Lee Jones. I’ll see just about anything with him in it.”

Carrie bristled, an air of indignation setting her shoulders straight. “Do you always listen to other people’s conversations?”

Ray laughed and snapped open another beer. He started to bring it to his lips before thinking better of it and extending his hand to offer the can to her. She answered with a shake of her neat little head and an abrupt, “No thanks,” before starting inside.

“I don’t think I could avoid hearing your conversation when you come to think of it. You were shoutin’ like the Baptists on a Sunday, and I’m sitting right here.”

She stopped in her tracks and looked back at him, a brief gurgle of laughter escaping her. “‘Shouting like Baptists on a Sunday,’ huh? That’s one I haven’t heard.” There was a moment’s hesitation before she plunged, “You’re Jake’s father, aren’t you?”

“Ray Ryder.” There was a groan of stretching to give her his hand as she told him her name. He then fell back against the wall and patted the space next to him. “Have a seat, Carrie Bennett.”

“No, I really—”

“Jake is with your baby, isn’t he? He’ll be takin’ real good care of her. I should leave ’em be for a while.” Eyes like saucers, Jake had said about the daughter. Well, there was no doubt where the girl got them. “Let ’em have a few dances at least. They’ll be fine. I promise.” He patted the floor next to him once more. When she didn’t move, he said, “Oh. I guess you don’t want to dirty those jeans, huh?”

“No, that isn’t it.”

Pique slid into outright annoyance as she got shoved toward him and almost tripped thanks to a rowdy bunch of youngsters surging into the dancehall.

“Look.” Ray ran his thumb around the rim of the can before dropping it down by his side and sliding his legs around. “Sit here on the edge with your legs hanging off, have a beer and relax. Enjoy yourself.”

He extended his hand again, and this time Carrie clasped it, gingerly squatting next to him before letting her rear hit the deck and scrunching over so her legs could hang off the side.

“Have a beer,” he repeated. “Or should I go get you a white wine. My guess is that’s what you drink.”

“You have me all figured out, huh?” She flicked some hair behind one ear. “Well, you’re right—I don’t drink beer, but I’m not drinking anything more tonight, thanks. I’m the designated driver, so I had better stay sober.”

“‘The designated driver?’ Wow.” He couldn’t keep humor out of his voice. “That must be some responsibility. The designated driver.” He mulled this over a bit, toying with the idea of winding her up. He brought out the flask and had a long pull, and spied her glance at her hands as if she were considering a manicure. “That sounds sorta like being one of the good Lord’s chosen people.” He swallowed his laughter as he tucked the flask back in his pocket. “I tell you, that must be some big East Coast thing, you know. ‘The designated driver,’” he repeated again, enjoying her annoyance.

“Okay. Look. I’m sure you find it very funny, but it’s not so funny if one of us loses our license—or, indeed, our life. I need to be able to drive.”

“I’m sure you do, sweetheart, but how many drinks did you actually have? One?” He shoved his hat back and nodded to the clusters of people hanging around outside the hall. “They’ll all be at least slightly over the legal limit and likely not a one of them will be stopped unless they’re really far gone. And I promise you, all of them will make it home safe and sound.”

“You’re very sure of yourself. Tell all that to the Mothers Against Drunk Driving who have lost children thanks to folks with your attitude, Mr. Ryder.”

“Ray. No, I’m just stating a fact of life. Sheriff might come by and give someone a warnin’ every so often, but he knows the folks. They’ve all grown up together, and ’less someone’s really off the deep end, he knows it isn’t worth his time pulling ’em in. Won’t do to embarrass your friends’ families. Anyway, none of them will be going far and, mostly like myself, down ranch roads.”

Carrie listened but wasn’t converted. “Well. It just takes a moment’s loss of concentration to go across the lane and hit another car. Anyway, I’m from out of state, so my guess is he can meet his tally by giving me a ticket, and I don’t want that.”

Ray took a gulp of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He figured anything more said on the subject would annoy her into leaving, and he rather enjoyed the sparring. In fact, she was pretty damn good looking if you came right down to it. “My wife used to read your books. You are the writer, aren’t you? Jake said…”

“Yes, I am a writer.”

“Yeah, my wife was a real fan. Used to keep me awake with ‘just one more chapter.’”

“Was a fan?” Carrie hedged.

“We’re…divorced. I guess the marriage just didn’t live up to all that romance she was reading.”

“I’m sorry.” There was an uncomfortable silence before she said, “Divorce is very unpleasant. Is it recent?”

“Oh.” Ray pondered a moment. “Yeah,” he finally said. Changing the subject, he went on asking, “Living in New York?”

“Yes. Most of the time. I have to travel a fair bit for either promotion or research. It’s research I’m doing here in Texas.”

“Research, huh? How does that work? I mean, are you researching me and everyone here, researching Texas dance halls, what?”

“Sort of. I’m trying to get a feel for the area, a sense of it so I can describe it realistically.”

Ray considered this. “A Texas romance, huh?” He took another swallow of beer. “Sounds good.” There was a somewhat sardonic note he couldn’t keep from his voice.

“Well, I’m struggling. But then I always do.” She sat with him, watching the fireflies for a moment before musing, “I thought these places served beer in a Mason jar?”

Ray tilted his head back to get the last out of his beer. “Ha! A country music fan?” He crushed the can, contemplating this fact. “Well, nowadays it’s mostly Shiner and Lone Star beer served as they come. But if you wanna go country, I can dig out a Mason jar for you if you like.”

Carrie threw her head back and laughed, like wind chimes ringing in the warm night.

“No, I’m fine, thank you.” She smiled at no one in particular, smoothing her hair at the back before asking, “I guess you’re really glad to have Jake home, huh?”

About to open another beer, Ray’s hand stopped in mid-air and he put the drink down again. He held her in his sight while considering his answer. “’Course I am. You send a child off to war, you can be sure you thank the good Lord if and when he comes home safe. You thank Him with every damn bone in your body. And then you get down on your knees and thank Him again.”

****

If she heard the words, ‘Welcome home, Jake’ or ‘Good to see you’ one more time, Paige would stomp on their Texas Swing feet and walk out. Everyone knew everyone else and, while he made brave attempts to keep introducing her, the curious glances she received did nothing to make her feel welcome.

“Sorry ’bout that,” he offered after another brief reunion. “I was out last night and thought I’d more or less seen most of my friends.”

“Well, you obviously have more friends than you know.” She stood, uncomfortable under the gaze of his ozone blue eyes, and shifted around to look through the crowd. “I guess I’m something of a curiosity, a novelty, huh?”

“Well…”

“Do they expect to see you with someone else? Did you leave a girlfriend behind?”

“Nope. No girlfriend.”

Jake put his elbows back on the bar before he took a swig of his drink. Her gaze ran over his lean, muscular body and found it difficult to believe one of the local belles hadn’t scooped him up. ‘Lanky’ was a word made for this Texan, and when the black hair grew in, he’d be downright irresistible.

But not to her; he wasn’t Steven, and a sudden yearning flowed through her veins like poison from a snakebite.

“You all right?” he asked suddenly.

She put her glass down on the bar. “Of course I’m all right,” she murmured. “Of course.”

The first strains of a slow dance brought couples out onto the floor. Jake extended his hand to her, questioning, palm open, and when she saw it, she stared a moment as if the hand were some foreign object, then caught the look of concern on his face.

Feeling as if she were in a slow motion movie, she held the proffered hand and let herself be led out onto the dance floor where he gently brought her in close and started to guide her to the tempo of the music. The warmth of his touch to her back dissipated the venom of loss that ran through her, and she let herself succumb closer to the heat of a man’s body. Solid, rock hard strength met her hand, and she would have liked to run her fingers down the arm, know the muscle and sinew underneath. Jake appeared to study her, consider her, let her be lost in her own thoughts, and for that she was grateful.

“You’re crying.”

His voice came like a whisper through a dream, bewilderment disorienting her. Suddenly aware of the damp streaking her face, she blinked up at him.

Jake stopped dancing for a moment, his hands still holding her. “Do you want to leave?”

“No,” replied Paige quietly. “I want to be held.”

****

Carrie had let a silence settle between them, a welcome quiet in which she enjoyed the warm Texas night.

Suddenly, Ray said, “Excuse me while I lean upon a hedge.”

He jumped down into the bushes off the side of the porch and disappeared into the shrubbery. A few minutes later, he returned with another three beers, thrashing his way through the plants like an explorer through jungle before stopping a moment and unsteadily arranging himself back into position on the edge of the porch. Disapproval played with the corners of her mouth.

“Not as young as I used to be,” he offered as an explanation.

“Nor as sober, I believe.” She waited to see what his reply would be but, when none was forthcoming, changed track. “A cowboy who quotes Shakespeare. That’s a first.”

“Lean upon a hedge? Oh, we’re full of surprises out here, the first one being we’re not all cowboys.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean… It wasn’t used as a pejorative term. I only meant—”

“It’s okay, forget it. But I prefer being called a rancher, ’specially as cows are not my business.”

“Well, how can you ranch if not with cows?”

“I run a horse and hunting ranch. Breed Arabs—the horse that is.” His humor shone through. “And run a hunting lodge operation.”

Carrie wondered how the gun side of this venture went with the alcohol.

“I never drink until after work,” he added, apparently reading her mind.

“Arabs? Wow.” Her head tilted in contemplation of this fact.

“You ride?”

“Yes. We had a couple of horses when Paige was growing up. Then she got more interested in boys than in horses.”

A laugh like a bass drum being tested came from Ray along with another of his smiles only showing in his eyes. “And did you get more interested in boys, too?”

Carrie’s back straightened, and she faced away.

“Sorry, that was rude of me,” he apologized. “I didn’t…I only meant, you didn’t have to give up horses as well.”

“I didn’t. I just didn’t have the time to care for them, and time for actual riding was at a premium.”

He acknowledged this with a small nod, reaching again for his flask. “So, is there a Mr. Bennett at present?”

“There was a Mr. Bennett. He’s moved on to greener pastures.”

“Sorry. As you said, divorce and all, not pleasant.”

His speech was beginning to slur, and a shade of what she took to be embarrassment colored his face.

“Well, it was a long time ago, Mr. Ryder,” she said more brightly, “and I am long over it.” She used the “Mr.” to put distance between them, then regretted it, thinking he probably found her stuffy.

He nodded in acknowledgement, swaying slightly as his fingers whitened with his grip on the porch. “Ray. Please call me Ray.” He was obviously having difficulty controlling his voice; its timbre had dropped to a sigh.

“How did you settle on Arabs, then? Over, say, Morgans or whatever.” Her gaze met his, and she was surprised to find a pain, a hurt evident where the humor had once been.

“It was my son’s decision, my son’s idea.” His voice had gone flat.

“Jake?”

“No.” There was an abrupt note in his voice as he forced the matter to rest, puckering his mouth somewhat as if his lips had been glued to form an O, or perhaps he might whistle. “Say, I think it’s about time this hombre headed on home.” He reached out to lay his hand flat against the wall and give himself some leverage to get up. “Jake’ll get a ride with friends.” He swayed to his feet, stumbled, then steadied himself.

“Look, I really don’t think you’re in any condition to drive, Ray. Let me go find Jake for you. Please.” Carrie stood and tapped him gently on the shoulder, surprised at the bulk of muscle she found as he turned to face her.

“Sweetheart, you won’t be able to find Jake in this lot. I promise you. Jake and your baby girl—what’s her name?”

“Paige.”

“Jake and Paige are havin’ themselves a good time. Let ’em be. As I told you earlier, I’m quite capable of driving, and I promise no harm will come.”

He lifted his keys out of his pocket and swung them for a moment, a moment too long as Carrie grabbed them out of his hand. The surprise that crossed his face almost brought out a laugh in her, but she found the situation too serious.

She propelled him back against the wall and passed into the hall to search for Jake. “Stay there!” she ordered, poking back out a second later. “Don’t move.”

The scene greeting her was a heaving mass of bodies, but all she could see was the conviction of youth, their confidence in themselves, in one another, the beauty of their certainty in life. A small gasp escaped her and she whispered, “They’re so young.”

“Yep. They sure are.”

Ray stood beside her, and his hand went tentatively to her shoulder as if to comfort her, but he was only steadying himself again. The grainy odor of beer on his breath made her take a step away.

“Best give me back them keys, if you don’t mind, and I’ll be on my way. I’m sure Jake and your baby will eventually turn up, if you don’t mind waiting a while.”

“I will not give you back the keys. I’ll drive you myself,” she sputtered out, suddenly decisive. “I’ll text Paige where I am. She has the keys to our car, so she can come with Jake and collect me when she reads it. Assuming one of them can still drive…”

Her gaze locked with Ray’s in a battle of wills, seeing him for the first time. Dark eyes, strong chin, Stetson way down. He had that unshaven look, neither beard nor shadow, but something in-between. Her heart lurched for a moment, and an uncontrolled heat warmed her cheeks as well as her insides.

Whipping out her phone and starting to text, she avoided the penetrating stare that tried to read her back.

“Sure is difficult always tryin’ to do the right thing.” He paused in an uncomfortable silence. “All right then, come on Miz Designated Driver. Pickup’s down the road a bit.”

****

Jake gently released Paige’s hand as she relaxed back against the building and sighed, her eyes blinking shut for a moment before widening to stare at him. He had led her out a side door where there were fewer people, a scattering of couples kissing or talking quietly, away from the throng. Now, he wished Paige had meant what she had said, that she wanted to be held, because holding her was exactly what he wanted to do at this moment. Yet, she appeared so distant, so alien in her attitude and demeanor, he hesitated to approach her in any intimate manner. Her distance was a wall, a barrier which was almost impenetrable, as if she had once held the key and thrown it away.

“You all right?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. Maybe I just needed some air.” She tilted her head, a sigh escaping like the suspiration of the wind.

“Paige...”

She shook her head in response as the glare of overhead lights reflected in her sad eyes. “Jake, I...” Her voice trailed off and she was saved from continuing by the telegraphic beeps of her phone. “Oh, a text.” Paige straightened, pulled out her cell phone and scrolled down the words. “Jeez,” she murmured. “My mother is driving your father home. That’s funny—they must have met outside. She says we should come and collect her when we’re ready.” She peered up at him. “Maybe we should go? Or I can go alone and collect her if you give me the address.”

The abruptness of the situation puzzled Jake. He grunted. “You wouldn’t find it in a month of Sundays. Not with GPS or anything.” He let out a breath of exasperation. “Come on, I’ll go with you.” With this opportunity past, the drive would serve as time alone with her.

Paige studied him, and for one heady moment, there was the sense she might lean in and kiss him. She appeared to melt like ice in a warm bath. His desire for her was palpable, but if she was aware of it, she ignored the fact and shook her head as if ridding herself of cobwebs.

“One more drink,” she said, gaining her self-control again. “We’ll have one more drink then go.”

****

Ray pointed to his pickup, smirking slightly with the knowledge of what her reaction would probably be.

“You must be joking.”

He could hardly hear the mumbled comment, but it was exactly what he’d been expecting.

She glowered, a brow definitively arched in query. “What year is this thing?”

He attempted to wipe the amusement away from his face with a hand that rubbed his stubble in a satisfying scrape. “Sorry, I left the Cadillac at home this time.” A raised brow questioned if she took him seriously. “It’s an ’89, and still runs as smooth as the day I got it.”

“Which was, what? Last year?”

Ray shook his head and proceeded to the passenger door. “You have the key, sweetheart,” he said, patiently standing and waiting.

“Listen!” Carrie put her hands out as if to stop any further conversation. “First off, I am not your sweetheart. And second, if by any chance you think you just may have gotten lucky tonight—”

“Whoa, whoa now.” Ray was truly mystified at the turn events were taking. “Not that I wouldn’t be honored and damn well pleased, but I sure as heck wasn’t thinkin’ along those lines...and truth be told, you know, I’m hardly up to it.” He considered this for a second, a fog clearing for a moment’s view of the road. “And I don’t mean I need Viagra either.” He noted her staring at the key as if it might turn into something else. “No, it doesn’t open automatically,” he informed her at last.

She shoved the key into the handle and got the door open, climbed up into the cab and reached across to unlock the door for him. Her gaze ran over the dashboard, uncertainty scrunching her face like a bitter fruit.

Ray folded himself into the passenger seat and slouched back, tipping his hat over his eyes. “Just let me know when you give up. I’ll be right here, darl…” Yeah, better not. He could almost feel her indignation, listening as she squirmed around and adjusted the seat.

“It’ll be a cold day in hell, mister, before I give up!” The key turned and the truck sputtered to life, then died again.

“You ever drive manual before?” he mumbled from under his Stetson, and sensed Carrie eyeing him. “That’s what I thought,” he answered to her lack of response. “Put your foot on the clutch, move her into first, release the brake, and get goin’, slowly releasing the clutch.”

“Who the hell drives stick shift anymore?” she muttered as she followed his terse instructions. The truck lurched forward as she spun it off the grass toward the road.

“Right,” Ray directed, feeling suddenly nauseous with the pitch of the car. Bile rising, he opened the door and spat before yanking it shut again. “Can you get the damn thing into second? Foot on the clutch, move the shift and let’s go if we’re going.”

“Fine! You don’t have to yell at me.”

Ray sat up, shoved his hat back from his eyes and glared at her, reining in his frustration and anger. “I was not yelling at you, but you know dang well we’d be far safer with me drivin’. As it is, I’m gonna need a new transmission.”

The truck staggered again. “I know no such thing.” She bent forward to swipe at the windscreen to clear it. “We haven’t got seatbelts on,” she murmured.

“We’re not going fast enough to need them.”

Carrie ignored his last remark and appeared to concentrate on keeping the truck moving. It sputtered again, and Ray let out a sigh of resignation just as flashing blue lights appeared in the side mirror. She pulled over, and the motor unceremoniously died.

“Damn!” she cursed, reaching down for her bag at Ray’s feet. “Let me get my license.”

“You won’t need it.” When the patrol car’s door slammed, he repeated, “Believe me, you won’t need it.”

“How can I not need it?” Carrie started to struggle with winding down the window. “Give me the—”

“Evenin’.” An almost perfectly square face topped by a sheriff’s hat peered in the window; porcine, virtually lashless eyes, which had caterpillars crawling above them, moved from Ray to her and back again. “Ray?” the officer drawled, “I thought I was at last gonna have to take you in, the way this old rattle trap was swerving. What’s up?” The piggy eyes darted between the two of them again.

“Hey, Dex. I got me a ‘designated driver’ tonight. How d’ya like that?” He brushed his hand across his mouth to hide a smile.

“Well, I’d say you got a driver tonight, but y’all’re gonna have to get yourself a new truck tomorrow.” He let out a belly laugh at his own joke while Carrie sat as if inanimate, an object the two men were discussing.

Ray patted her tentatively on the knee. “Ah, she’s doing real well, Dex. First time driving manual.”

“Well, listen,” the sheriff continued, “I know y’all’re only a short distance from your turn-off, but next time, maybe you ought to keep the lesson to your ranch road.” He smacked the side of the truck and stood back, then leaned forward into the window. “I hear Jake is returned from Iraq? Wish him well and welcome home for me, will ya?”

“Will do.”

“And lady? Keep it between the ditches, will ya darlin’?”

Ray sat with her in silence as Dex made his way to the patrol car and drove past them with a wave.

A gurgle escaped from the driver’s side. Ray leaned forward to try to assess the damage to her pride. “You’re not crying, are you?” Concern etched his voice. “I mean, it wasn’t that bad.”

Her reply was a burst of laughter so unaffected and self-effacing, it caught Ray completely off guard.

“No, I’m not crying.” She appeared a bit sheepish, the laughter still evident around her mouth. “I suppose you find me incredibly stuffy and arrogant.”

“Well, see, I didn’t know you could laugh. Isn’t that something?”

“Oh, I can laugh. At myself mostly.” The key twisted in the ignition. “So, where to—where we headed next?”

****

By the time the pickup grunted to a standstill outside the Rocking R ranch house, whatever tension had existed between the rancher and Carrie had dissolved. Dogs barked and yapped in anticipation of seeing their master, and she could hear the scratching at the door of the house. She glanced across at her companion, a sense of his loneliness and isolation dissipating any last remnants of her own aloofness. She sensed a connection, an empathy she could not quite understand, yet it was there, nonetheless.

When Ray didn’t move to get out, she said, “I can wait outside if you want to go in to sleep.”

“No, no.” He jerked the door open and swung his legs out. “You come on in. I think I may have gone a bit overboard tonight, truth be told. I’ll get us some coffee.”

“I can’t drink coffee this late, but water will be fine.”

She followed Ray as he stumbled up the steps and clutched the screen door before yanking it open. He found the light switch and the room came to life, dogs jumping and begging for his attention before taking note of their new visitor. Carrie stood uncertainly while they milled about her, sniffing, then she doled out pats to the entreating canines.

Released at last, she offered, “Your keys, before I forget.” She held them out to him as he faced her, regarding her a moment before taking them, nodding, and heading into the kitchen, the dogs at his heels.

“They’re Labs, aren’t they?” she called as she took in the masculine air of the room.

A living room or front parlor, she didn’t know what it would be called out here, it displayed no sign of feminine life, no mark of a woman’s hand ever having been there. A regulation Elk head—or was it Moose?—with antlers gave her a glassy-eyed look of superiority from above the fireplace, while a mounted bass on another wall pompously assessed her, countered only by the noncommittal glance of a deer. Braided rugs on the floor lent some fading color to an otherwise brown room. But two things surprised her: a stack of newspapers by the sofa included the pink of the Financial Times, and a virtual parade of photographs went around the room.

She started a tour of them, carefully lifting each photo, replacing it, studying the next.

Ray re-entered from the kitchen and handed her a glass of water, the dogs milling around him.

“You have another son,” she stated, remembering his comment about the choice of Arab horses to breed. “Does he live here, too?”

He shifted away from her, almost tripping on one of the Labs who let out a squeak of protest. “I better close them in.” He bent to grab one by the scruff of its neck and herded them into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him before he faced her.

Carrie held out a picture of two boys, the elder in army fatigues with a younger Jake smiling widely.

Ray reached out and gently took the photo from her. “Had another son,” he said quietly as he put the snapshot back on the shelf. “Had.”

She turned to him and knew, saw him standing there shaking slightly in his pain and anguish. As if by some form of osmosis, some unleashed intuition, she understood his story, grasped Ray, comprehended who he was. Yet, “I’m sorry,” was all she could say as she moved to let him have his private grief, tears already swimming in the lagoon-dark eyes.

Carrie let the screen door close quietly behind her and sat on the steps, the cool glass still in her hands. Peering up at the canopy of heaven, she suddenly experienced a sense of being so small, infinitesimal; it was as if the world loomed over her, spreading out from the one axis of her being. Rather than celestial entities in the infinity of space above her, to Carrie, the stars were holes in the fabric, entries to the endless expanse beyond, gateways to other worlds of which she would never be a part. The lights inside switched off and, for a moment, it appeared as if Ray had gone to bed.

“I’m sorry.” His voice came through the screen. The words were hoarse with drink and pain. “I… Can I join you?”

“Of course.”

He came out and carefully lowered himself onto the step, the coffee in his hand slopping slightly over the side.

“Don’t burn yourself.”

He set the mug down and stretched his legs forward, hands coming to rest on his thighs. “Robbie died in Afghanistan,” he started. “He was my eldest. It was five years ago, you know, and the pain is as fresh now as it was then. You never expect…you never think your kids are gonna go before you and all. And then Jake went off to Iraq, well, see…” He hesitated. “I told them, I said you take, but you give back. That’s what we do, we give back to our country, we serve. Robbie, well, Robbie just wanted to breed his horses—those damn Arabs meant everything to him, but I told him he had the…” There was a gulp of tears fighting to come out, the assault on a man’s pride he tried to cover. “I told him he had the rest of his life to breed those horses. I said every man in this family has served his country, and he wasn’t going to shame me, he wasn’t going to be the exception.”

“You served in Viet Nam, didn’t you?” Carrie lowered her voice to the whisper of a secret.

“Yeah. Right at the very end. I was lucky, I guess. Got over there just about in time to get out.” Ray tapped his hat back, then must have thought better of it and took it off, laying it carefully on the step beside him. Strands of damp hair lay plastered down the side of his face, but he made no attempt to push them back.

“Do you know how… I mean…”

“He was on guard duty, him and another kid. Some truck driven by them suicide bombers came at them laden with bombs, trying to get into the compound where all his buddies were. ’Course the two of them could’ve run away, could’ve stepped out of the way, but that’s not what you do, is it? They blasted the truck to stop it, blew it up outside to save the lives of the men inside that compound. Now, his mama has his Distinguished Service Cross and the flag that draped his coffin, as if that would make amends.” Ray cleared his throat, a sob mixing with his speech and anger. “But you know,” he went on, covering his mouth as if it would stop the tears, “you know it was my damn fault. I mean, what the hell difference would it have made if Robbie hadn’t gone, hadn’t of served? And what the hell are we doing there anyway? I mean, Viet Nam, Afghanistan, Iraq, what the hell are we fighting in those countries for? It’s meaningless, it’s just dang foolishness is what it is, kids dying for nothing...nothing at all.”

“Ray, you don’t believe that. Of course it made a difference, his serving. It made a big difference. You don’t believe that it was meaningless for one second.”

“Well. Tell you the truth, I don’t know what the hell I believe anymore. I criticized you for wanting to do the right thing, that business ’bout the designated driver an’ all, but, well, I guess it’s me. I just always tried, you know, I tried to do the right thing, but it never seemed to come out straight.”

“Of course it has,” Carrie assured him. “If Robbie hadn’t gone you would—”

“Oh, I know. I would’ve been angry with him for the rest of my life, been thinking what son of mine could do that, stay back. I’d’ve been shamed.” He sighed and glanced over as if noticing for the first time she was there. “I married Leigh Anne ’cause she was pregnant—that’s what you did, the right thing. You get a girl in the family way, you damn well married her. I’d been a kid when I went to Nam, and when I got back, I was quite a hell-raiser. Went all over the place, doing the rodeos, workin’ ranches. Then I got back here, and I was just taking over the ranch. Hardly had a dime to my name in those days, but you did the right thing. Well…” He ran a finger along the line of a crack in one of the steps. A hint of his earlier humor flashed on his face. “Is this when you New York folks say, ‘Thanks for sharing?’” he quipped.

Carrie let herself laugh. “Oh, dear.” She played with some loose hair, thinking of how she had misjudged him earlier, feeling the depth of his character and his sadness. She fixed the curl behind her ear and sat with him, watching lights now moving on the horizon.

“That might be them.” Ray pointed out as a pair of headlights moved down the ranch road. Then they stopped, disappeared. “Well, I’ll be…”

“What? Have they stopped?”

“Seems like...” He hesitated, then said, “I hope Jake is not up to anything with your daughter. He certainly seemed to have an interest in her, shall I say?”

“Paige.” Carrie sighed. “Paige just lost someone, Ray. I don’t think she’s ready for another relationship just yet. Her fiancé died last year from a very aggressive form of leukemia. She quit law school and all.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Well…he’s not the sort of boy to force himself. Boy?” He shook his head in admonishment of himself. “Twenty-seven years, I guess he’s a man. Anyway, he’s a real gentle soul is Jake. Except with me, of course. Paige’ll be all right.”

****

“Watch out for the cattle guard.”

Jake’s warning reached Paige through the darkness as the car bumped and screeched before she brought it to a stop.

“What’re you doin’? I thought your mother was waiting?”

She didn’t know what she was doing. The memory of his gentleness at the dancehall, his comprehension of her, ran through her mind. And then there was the feel of his body beneath her hand, the heat that had reached her, the strength.

Paige sat a moment longer, still gripping the wheel, before facing Jake. She stared at him for several seconds before reaching across and running her finger down the outline of his chin, a solitary tear finding its way down her cheek. He wasn’t Steven, no, but Steven wasn’t here, Steven wasn’t anywhere; Steven would never hold her, or kiss her cheek or make love to her again.

Jake extended his own hand, and with his thumb, wiped the trace away, then he leaned across and kissed her, gently at first, but more pressing, deeper as it went on. She clasped him tightly, need overtaking her as his hand slipped up under her blouse to undo her bra, his tongue tasting the sweetness of her mouth...

Just as suddenly as she had yielded to him, she thrust him back. “I can’t. I can’t! Stop, stop it, Jake.” She shoved him away, protecting herself by turning her face to the window.

“What? You…I thought…”

“I know what you thought. I’m sorry.”

“What? Are you some sort of tease or something?” Confusion brought his voice to a higher pitch. “I thought…you stopped the car and all.” He collapsed back against the window, anger and disappointment coloring his voice.

“Yes, yes I know. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

She reached backward to re-hook her bra, then leaned back against the cool of the window to stare at him. Jake held his head, frustration forcing his breaths in ragged beats.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I never should have…” She waited to contain herself, to try to explain. “I had a fiancé. He died. He died last year and…I thought…” She spoke in faltering bursts, finding the words from somewhere deep inside her, as if speaking a foreign language she would never quite master. More quietly, hardly a whisper, she said, “I thought if you made love to me, if we made love, perhaps...I don’t know, it would wipe out the pain for a bit. It would make me feel…better. But I can’t. I’m not ready. I’m sorry.”

Jake ran his fingers through the turf of his scalp. In the confines of the car, there was tension in the air like a thunderstorm receding.

“How did he die?” he asked gently.

She shuddered, tears streaming now, anguish engulfing her. “Leukemia.”

“Jeez,” was all he said. He cleared the mist from his side window and looked up toward the house. “I lost my brother five year ago. I guess it’s not the same but, then again, you lose someone you love, it messes you up. Sure as hell messed up my parents.”

“Did they divorce because of it?”

“Well, sort of. Dad took to drink and my mother…I guess you could say she started running around. Lord, parents, huh?”

Paige grimaced. “Yeah. My mother found my bottle of sleeping pills next to my bed and immediately presumed the worst. I’d quit law school to be with Steven, and then moved back home. The doctor had given them to me, but she immediately assumed I planned to kill myself.”

“And did you?”

Jake’s expression was questioning, with curiosity, but she also saw fear there of what the answer might be.

The query hung in the air between them like a bad odor before she replied, “I guess I sort of considered it. But it’s not what Steven would have wanted. He would have wanted me to continue, to stay at school.”

“Will you? Go back to school I mean.”

“Maybe. I don’t know if I’m ready yet, ready to see my friends, ready to concentrate on classes and write papers.”

Jake glanced again toward the ranch house. “My dad blames himself for Robbie’s death. He doesn’t know…” He stopped, his gaze traveling from Paige back up to the house. “The lights are off. That’s strange.” He gave her a rather mischievous wink. “You don’t suppose they’re…you know…”

“Oh, lord, no. Not my mother.” She snorted in denial. “She’s, like, afraid of men.”

“I don’t suppose my dad could get it up anyway, what with the drink and all.” He waited a moment as if assuring himself she was better now, then leaned across and kissed her softly. “We better go.”

Paige started up the car once more, the headlights spotlighting the road ahead. “What is it he doesn’t know?” she asked as she drove away.

“Who doesn’t know?”

“You said your father doesn’t know. What is it he doesn’t know?”

“That it wasn’t his fault,” Jake replied slowly, like a guilty prisoner under cross-examination. “Robbie’s death—it wasn’t my dad’s fault. It was mine.”