Along Came a Cowboy (30 page)

A
bout half a mile from the Lazy W, it occurs to me that Jack may be busy, gone, or even—this thought is a shocker that doesn't bear considering—have a date already for tomorrow night. He answers my call on the first ring.

“Jack, is it too late for a friend to drop in?”

“Of course not. Is everything okay?”

“Things are fine. I just need to talk to you a minute.”

His tone is guarded. “Good talk or bad?”

I pull into the driveway as he finishes the last question. He's standing on the porch watching me. I close my cell phone without answering and climb out of the car into the warm moonlit night. A night that's playing havoc with my heart, which is once again threatening mutiny.

The cowgirl always falls for the cowboy in the moonlight. It's a known fact. And seeing Jack striding down the porch steps toward me, all broad-shouldered and long-legged, with horses whinnying in the distance and crickets singing their hearts out, well, what's a cowgirl to do?

Get a grip, that's what. Jack meets me halfway across the drive and pulls me into a loose hug. I allow him to hold me for
a minute. Because there's the moonlight and the crickets, and. . . and because it makes me feel incredibly peaceful, like all is right with the world.

“What's wrong?” he whispers against my hair.

I push back, and he releases me but slides his hand down to enfold mine.

I don't pull away as we walk up to his porch swing and sit down. “Nothing's wrong. I just need to ask you something.”

He smiles. “Since when do you drive out here at bedtime to ask me something?” He squeezes my hand, and I stare down at our entwined fingers. What am I doing on a dark porch holding hands with this cowboy?

I gently tug my hand free. “Since I decided at the last minute that maybe I do need an escort for the Citizen of the Year banquet.” I try so hard to sound casual, but I'm afraid that I just sound like I'm trying hard to sound casual. I push to my feet, lean out over the porch railing, and look up at the moon. “I thought you might want to go with me.”

“You askin' me or the man in the moon?” Jack says from behind me where he's still sitting. There's a tone in his voice that I haven't heard before.

I turn around and rest my back against the railing, suddenly nervous. “I'm asking you.”

“As a date? Or as friends?” His face is in the shadow now, but his clipped words are giving me a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“As friends.” Nothing has changed. So that's all I have to offer. Take it or leave it. Except, please take it.

“No.”

“No?”

“I'm sorry, Rachel. I can't go with you to the banquet.”

Anger, hot and sudden, flares through me. “Why not?” I
can see Allie and Victoria counting off all our excursions on their fingers. I can hear their voices, teasing me that Jack is just waiting for me to give him the all-clear sign. “You've gone everywhere else with me for the last month, but I need an escort to a public banquet where I'm the guest of honor and you can't go?”

As quickly as the anger comes, it's gone, and mortification takes its place. He didn't say he won't go. He said he can't go. He probably has another engagement, or he's expecting company, or he's allergic to banquets, or he has to wash his hair. . . . I'm sure there's a good reason.

He stands and crosses over to me, and the moonlight falls on his face. His features are set in hard lines tonight. The laughing, joking cowboy I know isn't anywhere to be seen. “You asked for us to just be friends for a while. And I agreed. But it's been awhile. And I can't do it anymore. I thought I could give you all the time you need. But I can't.”

“Oh.” My voices is as small as I feel. He
could
go. He
won't
. He touches my shoulder, and I cross my arms in front of me. If I let him hold me again, I'll crumble.

He drops his hand as if he's touched a hot stove. “I love you, Rachel.”

All sound ceases. The night sounds are no more. I stare at him, his brown eyes so dark, and the horror of what is happening dawns on me. “I. . .I. . .don't know what to say.”

He utters a short laugh, void of mirth. “I didn't think you would.” Then he nods slowly. “Let me know when you think of something.”

He turns toward his front door, his boots tapping against the wooden porch as he walks away from me.

“Jack?”

He turns around, holding up his hand to silence me.

“Remember when I told you about Maggie? I said I reacted stupidly after she left?”

I nod.

“The truth is I found out later that she'd been engaged to some guy even while we were together. I followed her back to Boston and punched out her fiancé. I guess I thought he was the reason she wouldn't love me. A night in jail woke me up to the fact that you can't force love. Either it's there or it's not. I promised myself I'd never try again to make something be there that isn't there. And obviously, for you, it's not there.”

“But I. . .” I what? I love you? If I say that, then I've opened the gate. The rest of the truth will come tumbling out. All my shame will be right out in the open, and he'll hate me anyway. Either way, I've lost him. “I. . .”

He opens the screen door and turns back to face me one more time. “Bye, Rach.”

And just like that, he's gone.

“I still don't understand why I couldn't ask Dirk to go to the banquet with me.” Jennifer spins around, admiring her white dress in the foyer mirror.

I lean forward and peer at my reflection. My extra-heavy makeup is hardly noticeable. “I told you, it's a girls' night out.”
Besides, if I can't have a date, you're not about to have one either
.

“Miranda and Katie's dad will be there.”

A smile plays across my lips. How quickly Daniel became “Miranda and Katie's dad.” “He and Adam and Craig don't count.”

“Just because you and Jack—”

I turn and raise an eyebrow in warning, and she shuts up. She doesn't know what happened with Jack, but she's
definitely taken note of my puffy eyes and red nose today. And noticed that I didn't get up for our morning ride. I think she figured out right quick that I don't have a cold.

“So, are you okay?” she asks a little grudgingly. But still, for a fifteen-year-old, that's pretty considerate, I think.

“I will be.” I hope. I cried so much last night the dogs finally got off the bed and went to sleep on the floor. Today I'm numb. Nothing. It's weird really. But I remember when I first moved back to Shady Grove, a widow we knew lost her home and all her possessions in a fire. The next day she seemed fine. Lark and I marveled at how quickly she'd found peace, but Lark's granny said, “Peace takes time, honey. Shock is what gets you through the first few days.”

So I guess this is shock.

And if peace takes time, then I'm not about to get any, because time is a luxury I don't have. I have a banquet to attend, with or without Jack. And it looks like I'll be doing it without him. And everything else, as well. For the rest of my life.

I can't think of that or I'll never make it through an entire night of being on display. Jenn runs to her room to get her purse, finally giving me a turn at the mirror. I step back and examine my full-length appearance.

I love this dress. Bright red, flapper-style, with a handkerchief hem hanging around my knees. Completely decent, but it always makes me feel a little daring. It's not green, but I still think Jack would have liked it.

Groan.

It's going to be a long night. “Jenn. Time to go,” I call down the hallway. “Okay—coming.”

In a few minutes, she dances into the room, clutching her tiny cell phone purse. She twirls one more time for the mirror.
“This dress is so awesome—I love it. Thanks again for getting it for me, Aunt Rachel.”

She does look so beautiful. I feel like the big bad wolf. Maybe I should have let her ask Dirk. “I'm sorry Dirk isn't going to see you in it.”

She gives me an odd look then shrugs. “I'm ready whenever you are.”

“I'm as ready as I'll ever be,” I mutter and grab my keys. When we walk in the Civic Center and my parents are the first people I see, I think maybe I should have spent a little more time mentally preparing. Oh, who am I kidding? It would take one of those twenty-four-hour prayer vigils to prepare me for what I'm going to face tonight.

“Rachel, congratulations.” My mother shakes my hand.
Shakes my hand
. As if she were glad to make my acquaintance. Then she pulls Jenn into a warm embrace.

“Good going, girl.” Dad's voice is gruff, but at least he pats me on the back. He hugs Jenn. “You look beautiful, kiddo.” Then back to me. “Where's Jack?”

And so it begins. “Um, he's. . .”

“Doc!” Ron's voice causes me to turn. He and Alma are walking quickly toward me.

I throw my parents an apologetic look. “I'd better see what he wants.”

“You go on ahead. We'll see you inside,” Dad says.

Ron gives me a thumbs-up as he approaches. “You look great.” He grasps my forearms and leans close. “Hope you've got a good speech ready, girl,” he whispers and winks.

“Speech?” I shake my head and clutch my small red evening bag as I realize what he's saying. I won. And now I'm supposed to give a speech. The one they told all the nominees to prepare. The one I was going to write last night but completely forgot
about as I drowned my dogs in tears. What am I going to do now? Waltz up to the podium, smile brightly, take the trophy, and. . .what? Run? Thanks a lot, Jack. Great timing.

“You're such a joker.” Ron laughs heartily, and Alma joins in.

I try to laugh, my mind frantically racing. Really, seriously, what am I going to do?

Alma looks at me and then at Jenn. “Where's Jack?”

I'm going home. I
cannot
do this. I cannot deal with distant parents, an absent Jack, and a nonexistent speech all in one night. Wait a minute, is there a theme running through there somewhere? A theme that's running through my life? Like I said, I
cannot
do this.

“Yoo-hoo, Dr. Donovan,” Mrs. Peabody, one of my oldest patients, hails me.

“I'm sorry, Alma, Ron. I have to speak to Mrs. Peabody.” Suddenly, I envision an evening of bouncing from one “Where's Jack?” to another like a pinball. Which will work, if I can time my exits and keep them oh so graceful.

“I'm going to hang out with the Grands,” Jenn says.

I nod, and she walks over to join my parents as I greet my sweetest patient.

“Hi, Mrs. Peabody.” “Hi, sweetie.” Her bony hands clutch mine, and she pats me on the cheek. “I'm so proud of you.”

“Thank you for coming.” “I'm so glad Paul was able to bring me.” She looks over her shoulder at a tall gangly boy standing awkwardly a few feet away. “I was just telling him how I came in to see you because of my neck and ended up getting rid of my heartburn. If anybody deserves Citizen of the Year, it's you.”

I smile at her reasoning, my terror at not having a speech receding for a minute. “Thank you.” I give her a quick squeeze
and start to move on, but she grabs my arm and narrows her faded blue eyes at the milling crowd over my shoulder. “Is that cowboy with you tonight?”

“No, ma'am.” At least she didn't ask me where he was. “Oh good.” Uh-oh. I've heard that gleeful tone in many a mother's voice just before. . . She turns and waves to the boy. “Paul! Come over here and meet my chiropractor.”

This night just keeps getting better and better. All I need now is food poisoning from the filet mignon. Wait. That would be a step up. At least I'd get to leave.

Paul walks up to us, his Adam's apple bobbing. “Hello.”

I shake hands with him, hiding my shock. Surely she can't be trying to fix me up with this high school boy.

“Paul's thirty. He's mature for his age.”

Oh my. She is. And apparently I'm not very good at hiding my shock. At least he's not eighteen as I imagined when I first saw him. “That's nice. Much better than being immature for your age,” I say to Paul. Where did that come from?

He smiles. “Grandma brags about you all the time.”

I glance around the lobby. Surely somebody wants to know where Jack is.