Tori avoided thinking about anything on Sunday afternoon by roping with Shawnee, but eventually even that had to come to an end. As Shawnee heaved her rope bag into the back of her truck, she asked, “You plannin’ to go to the roping in Lubbock next weekend?”
“I don’t have a partner.” And it wasn’t a drawpot like the one in Canyon.
“Yeah, well, turns out I’ve got a spot on my dance card.”
Tori froze in the midst of buckling Fudge’s halter. “You want me to rope with you?”
“Whaddya think we’ve been doing? Quilting club?” Shawnee screwed up her face in disgust. “My regular partner got herself knocked up and her husband’s being a dick, whining about how she shouldn’t be riding in her third trimester. Everybody else is already partnered up.”
Tori stared at her. “You said your granny could’ve roped that last steer faster.”
“Hey, Gran could fling some string in her day. So…you in?”
Tori stared at her some more, until Fudge rubbed his head on her shoulder and knocked her back a step. She shoved him away. “Fine. But I don’t care where I rope the steer, you’d better be there when I turn the corner.”
Shawnee just grinned. “As long as we’re on the subject, you might not’ve noticed, but I could use a new pickup.”
“How is that on the subject?”
Shawnee folded her arms and leaned back against the rust bucket. “They give pickups to the winners at the Turn ’Em and Burn ’Em roping in Abilene in March. That gives us six weeks to get you up to speed.”
Tori stared at her, gobsmacked. The Turn ’Em and Burn ’Em was the biggest roping event in Texas short of the George Strait Invitational, but unlike George’s roping, it was handicapped like a Pro/Am golf tournament—anyone had a chance to win the big prizes if they had their best day. But there would be hundreds of teams. Shawnee expected her to turn five steers fast enough to beat them all?
Tori swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Tori hesitated, delaying the moment when she had to be alone. Her mother was home, and her dad had broken the news hours ago. The knowledge was like standing under a ton of boulders in a fraying net. She could practically hear the ping, ping, ping as fibers snapped.
“I suppose now that we’re partners, I have to offer you a beer,” she said, because yeah, she was that desperate. “I’ve got a six pack of Shiner and last year’s World Series of Team Roping on DVD.”
Shawnee shot her a look, as if she thought Tori might be kidding, then shrugged. “I gotta be home before midnight or my royal carriage turns into a rusty old piece of shit.”
When the horses were unsaddled, Tori led the way inside. She dragged out chips and salsa and they settled in, beers in hand, Shawnee in the recliner and Tori on the couch.
“These walls are the color of baby calf shit,” Shawnee said.
“I know.” Tori dug through couch cushions for the remote. “I hate painting.”
“There are people who will do that crap if you part with a few bucks from the ol’ trust fund.”
“Too bad my family doesn’t believe in them.”
Shawnee did a double take. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” Tori gave up on the cushions and started shaking out blankets. “The family corporation owns the ranch, the horses, the businesses, everything. Daddy is the CEO and gets a salary. We can live at the ranch and use the family stuff—with permission—but it doesn’t belong to any of us. Every kid gets tuition at the college of our choice and five years max to graduate. It’s assumed that we will excel to the point of being offered financial assistance for advanced degrees. Other than that, we’re on our own.”
“That’s…not exactly how I figured.”
“You and the rest of the world.” The remote fell out of the blankets and thudded onto the floor. Tori bent to pick it up. “Blame my great-great-granddad. After he got filthy rich, he decreed that there would be no deadbeats living off his hard-earned bucks, and subsequent generations have continued the tradition.”
“So this place…” Shawnee circled a hand in the air.
“Is mine. I made the down payment with Willy’s life insurance, but I’ve got a mortgage like everybody else.”
For once, Shawnee didn’t have a smart-ass comeback. Tori turned on the television, still tuned to the news channel she’d had on earlier, keeping an ear out for any mention of her parents. Now her father’s face filled the screen. The blood drained from Tori’s head when she recognized the interviewer. Richard Patterson was a guest on the number one conservative political talk show in the country, with millions of viewers hanging on his every word.
“…been the poster boy for family values for your party,” the talking head was saying. “How do you think your constituents are going to feel about your divorce?”
The senator considered the question, his expression regretful but resolute. “I don’t want to imply that I don’t care about the people who put me in the Senate. I do. Deeply. I’ve put the needs of my constituents ahead of everything, including my family. I allowed my marriage to degenerate past the point of no return, then instead of trying to fix it, I turned elsewhere for, um, companionship. I wasn’t there for my younger daughter after her husband died, and I’ve encouraged my older daughter to keep her relationship with a wonderful woman under wraps for fear of damaging my career. In every possible way, I’ve failed at being a father and a husband.”
Tori heard Shawnee suck in air. Well. At least one of them could breathe.
For once, the talking head didn’t have to manufacture his shock. “You’re saying…I mean, you’re confessing…well, I don’t know where to start.”
“I know how you feel,” the senator said, with a grim smile.
The interviewer visibly collected himself. “Are you considering stepping down from office?”
“If that’s what the voters want. Otherwise, I will serve out my term.”
“And then? Your name has been mentioned in terms of a presidential bid.”
The senator shook his head. “I would prefer to make a reasonably graceful exit, then figure out what’s next for me. And spend more time with my girls.”
“Well. That’s very…” The interviewer trailed off, staring at the senator with the look of a man who’d just witnessed a disaster of epic proportions and couldn’t find words to describe it. He tapped two fingers on the table and turned to face the camera. “You heard it here first, folks. Senator Richard Patterson of Texas—”
Tori cut him off and turned on the DVD. She stared at the FBI piracy warning on the screen, streamers of ice water trickling through her body as she imagined her mother and her sister, both watching what she’d just watched. Elizabeth must have known. He never would’ve outed her on national television without her approval. But their mother…
“What the hell?” Shawnee’s voice had an odd, stunned pitch.
“I believe you’d call that a preemptive strike.” Tori had to give the man credit. He’d most likely demolished his political future, but he’d also robbed her mother of any and all ammunition, at least as far as Tori could see.
“Did you know?”
“Most of it.” She took a very long, deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I only guessed about the other women.”
“Well…shit,” Shawnee said.
“Yep.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“Thank the fucking stars. Fire up that video; let’s watch some ropin’.”
They drank beer and shoveled in chips and salsa until the bag and the bowl were empty, watching team after team until they blurred together in Tori’s head. Shawnee provided color commentary and criticism of every single run. She seemed to know half of the contestants and sprinkled her monologue with stories about the horses they rode, who was sleeping with whom, and that time her dad got caught out back in a horse trailer with Barney’s wife and it’s a damn good thing that pistol under the pickup seat wasn’t loaded. Tori wasn’t required to do anything but listen, nod, and let her thoughts spin out into oblivion. It was so much like hanging out with Willy it felt like coming home, and simultaneously, like a black hole opening up inside her chest.
After Shawnee left and the beer bottles were gathered up and stuffed in the trash, Tori showered, pulled on her sweatpants and one of Willy’s T-shirts. As she curled up on the couch, her phone rang. She snatched it off the coffee table.
“Daddy. Are you okay?”
“Tired, and a little overwhelmed, but I’m more concerned about you.”
“Me? Why?”
He made an angry, frustrated noise. “Elizabeth was more than happy to take whatever heat comes her way. Pratimi is thrilled to have a national platform to advance gay rights. Between that and digging up the dirt on my past indiscretions, I assumed the press would be too busy to bother you. But I had to go and mention Willy’s death…”
Oh. Hell.
Tori’s heart hit bottom with an audible thud. She should have anticipated this from the moment her father told her about the divorce. Of course the reporters would comb through every detail of their lives, looking for anything they could plaster on pages and screens. And Willy’s story was irresistible.
Her father growled out a rare curse. “I’m so sorry, sugar. I should have waited—”
“No!” She didn’t have to try to sound adamant. “You’ve waited too long already. I can deal with this.”
He sighed. “I wish you didn’t have to, especially on my account. I’ll do everything I can to help.”
“That’s all I ask. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. I promise.”
When he spoke again, he sounded exhausted, but she could hear a shadow of a smile in his voice. “You know what I regret most?”
“What?”
“That I’ve been gone so much I can’t even take credit for the amazing women my daughters have turned out to be.”
Tori drew a shaky breath and let it out on a choked laugh. “Okay, now you’re just sucking up.”
He laughed, too. But after they hung up, Tori slumped back on the couch, crossed her arms over her face, and let loose every swear word she’d held back while he could hear.
So much for her all-too-brief trip to Normal Land.