Saturday had been the best day since Johnny’s wreck. The sun was shining, the wind was only moderately annoying, and he and Hank had spent the entire afternoon down in the river bottom replacing broken posts. Johnny had only driven the pickup—towing the hydraulic post pounder along the fence while Hank did all the real work—but he was still feeling a nice tingle of accomplishment until he walked in the house and saw Bing’s suitcase by the door.
Johnny’s stomach gave a nasty lurch, but he covered it with a glare. “You said you were staying.”
“In Texas.” She gave him one of those maddeningly cool smiles. “Not necessarily in this house.”
“Where are you going?” Hank made no effort to hide his alarm, unlike whatever had kept him quiet and distracted all day. Johnny assumed he’d heard about the big retirement announcement, but he was happy to let Hank decide when he was ready to talk about it.
Bing turned that implacable gaze on Hank. “Now that your dad isn’t staggering around like a one-armed zombie, he doesn’t need a babysitter. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t like how the neighbors have been looking at us, so I’m taking your apartment.”
Hank’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“It’s not like you’re using it.” Her mouth pinched into a disapproving vee. “Analise said you haven’t slept there since Wednesday.”
His face reddened, but he didn’t flinch. “Grace and I have been staying up late to watch the rodeo. It’s easier to crash there.”
“I’m sure it is, but in case that doesn’t work out, I vacuumed your room and washed the bedding. And yes, Johnny, there’s beef stew in the slow cooker.” She grabbed her suitcase and computer bag and turned to Hank. “As long as you’ve got your coat on, you can drive me into town.”
Hank tugged the suitcase away from her. “That’ll leave you on foot.”
“There’s nowhere in Earnest that I can’t walk in five minutes. If I need to go farther, Analise will give me a ride. But I will be here tomorrow night, so don’t think you’re weaseling out on the decorating.” And she breezed out the door without so much as a backward glance.
She didn’t even take her damn cactus.
Johnny peeled off his coat and jammed it onto a hook before stomping in to pour himself a cup of coffee. The carafe he snatched off the machine was empty. He banged through cupboards to find the makings for a fresh pot, a silent stream of curses looping in his head. Just when a man got used to having a woman in the house, bam! They were gone. And a woman like Bing left an impression—echoes of her laugh, the bright flash of her smile, her scent creeping out of the bedroom even when the door was closed.
She was right to put more space between them. They had been keeping as much distance as possible when they were both in the house, especially after Hank left in the evenings, but since that moment in Johnny’s bathroom, there was no way to ignore the awareness that hummed between them. It might not have been so painful if he didn’t know the attraction was mutual.
And that acting on it would destroy every wobbly bridge he and Hank had built. If there was any doubt, all Johnny had to do was look to Melanie for an example. I chose Wyatt, she’d said. Her life, her happiness over Hank’s. Considering all she’d sacrificed, trying to be everything for her brother that his parents weren’t, she’d earned the right to grab her own happiness.
Johnny hadn’t earned jack shit. Hell, he was so far in the hole he might never see daylight, even if he got credit for turning his back on a woman who was unlike anyone he’d ever met or was likely to again. Tough, but vulnerable. Hard sometimes, but soft when you least expected it. Fearless when it came to defending what she had claimed as her own. And yes, beautiful. But even if he was free to reach out, what would she want with a beat-up old wreck of a heart like his?
While he waited for the coffee to brew, he peeked into the slow cooker. There was enough stew to last a couple of days. His gut clutched again. Would he see her at all now? Then he shook off his own foolishness. She cared too much about Hank to keep her nose out of his business. And Johnny…well, she cared too much about Hank to stop trying to fix his father.
He took his coffee into the living room, and his footsteps seemed to echo despite the carpet. What was that song? “Alone Again (Naturally).” Sighing, he set his mug down on the table beside his recliner, went to the door, and called the dogs to keep him company.
A sharp yip woke him from a fitful doze filled with the old nightmares of being at a rodeo and, when the announcer called his name, suddenly realizing that he didn’t have his horse, or his rope, or—his least favorite—his jeans. After all these years you’d think he’d be over those dreams, but everyone had their own version. Melanie’s was arriving at the rodeo only to discover she’d forgotten to load her horse in the trailer. Anxiety dreams, she’d told him. They came when things were changing too fast or you felt unprepared.
No shit.
As Johnny scrubbed his hands over bleary eyes, the dogs raced to meet Hank in the mudroom. He was carrying a scuffed duffel bag. Catching Johnny’s gaze, he hitched a shoulder. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
Johnny’s mood gave a hopeful bound, but he asked, “Don’t you have a date with Grace?”
“Her brothers are with her tonight.” Hank toed off his boots and padded toward his bedroom but hesitated at the door. “I suppose you already knew about the retirement.”
“Melanie called yesterday morning.”
Hank ran his thumb back and forth along the top of the doorknob, as if he wanted to say more but was having trouble spitting it out. The thump of Mabel’s tail was the only sound as she waited for Hank to notice and scratch her. Spider rooted her head under Johnny’s hand, and he automatically rubbed her ears.
“Seeing them together was…weird,” Hank said. “Somehow I pictured her as just one more of his things, you know? But it’s the other way around. She owns him.”
“As far as I can tell,” Johnny agreed, a fact that both amused and amazed him.
Hank gave a soft huh. “Guess I’ll see for myself at Christmas.”
“If they come.” The words popped out before Johnny could stop them.
Hank’s gaze went sharp. “I know they’ve got the whole foster-kid thing going on, but I assumed they’d fly down for a couple of days.”
Johnny knew he should just tell him the truth, flat out. Your sister doesn’t want to upset you. But it didn’t feel like it was his place to say what Melanie was thinking, and he didn’t want to go blundering in and make it all worse.
Dammit, Bing. Where are you when I need you? “They’ve, um, got stuff. At the bar. A big Christmas dinner.”
Hank’s face had gone still and hard, bringing to mind that first night they’d run into each other at the Smoke Shack and sending a chill down Johnny’s spine. In an instant, it felt as though a chasm had reopened between them. Then Mabel nudged Hank’s hand and he blinked, and just like that he was back, his face softening as he scratched the dog. “I’m gonna unpack.”
He pushed into his room, waited for Mabel to follow, then shut the door behind them. Spider rested her chin on Johnny’s thigh and whined softly.
“I know,” he said. “I suck at this.”
Spider licked his hand. Johnny sighed and gave her another rub. Lucky for him, after all the times he’d cursed her, loudly and at length, the damn dog wasn’t smart enough to hold a grudge.
* * *
Hank dropped his duffel on the floor and walked over to plop onto the edge of the bed, hands dangling between his knees.
Well, shit. Now he really felt like a jerk. Mentally, he’d kept avoiding the issue of Christmas the same way he’d figured he could avoid Wyatt and Melanie. If he didn’t feel up to happy family time, he’d just go off somewhere with Bing until they left. But that damn interview this morning had dragged them front and center in his brain, where they had remained planted all day. He couldn’t stop seeing Melanie—but not the sister who had constantly nagged him and scolded him, bailed him out, and yes, cheered him on.
Instead he’d seen a beautiful, confident woman who had her husband twisted around her little finger. In some bizarre way, watching them together made Hank feel as proud as when he’d watched Melanie win the college national championship. The mighty Wyatt had fallen, and Hank’s big sis had been the one to bring him down. And now Hank had the power to make or break their Christmas.
Mabel parked herself between his feet, gazing up at him expectantly. He cradled her head in his hands and scratched both ears. She moaned in pleasure. Hank laughed softly, then gave her a final pat.
“Looks like it’s time I finished growing up, Mabel.” He stood and made a slow circle, taking in the cluttered walls. Like his hair, they didn’t fit with who he was now. These were a kid’s dreams, and like everything else, he needed to clear out the clutter so he could start fresh.
Unlike too much of what had come before, he took care not to damage anything as he peeled ancient, curling tape and pulled stick pins, adding each poster and photo to the stack on the bed. Last of all, he took down the autographed picture of Joe that had started it all. Then he stepped back and studied the bare walls. The paint had faded unevenly so that the shapes of things were still visible, and there were holes from the pins and sticky yellow residue from tape. As always, the past had left its marks.
But Hank had stopped expecting perfection, from himself or anyone else. Even someone who seemed as flawless as Wyatt had scars. Regrets. And a huge Melanie-shaped soft spot.
Hank smiled as he dragged an old Justin Boots box down from the shelf in the closet. It reminded him of Grace’s shoebox—he still hadn’t gone through those pictures—but this one held the life and times of Hank Brookman, from a strip of wallet-sized school photos to a rodeo program from Cuero, Texas, with him listed as one of the bullfighters. He sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor, Mabel beside him, while he picked through his memories and found the ones he treasured most.