She’s Gone Country (25 page)

John lifts his hands. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

Hank says something under his breath and hauls himself from the booth. We all watch as he walks across the restaurant to the long counter, where Traci is organizing our drinks.

He says something to her, and she ducks her head. He keeps talking, and then suddenly she looks up at him, smiling and biting her lip and nodding.

Hank returns a minute later and slides back into the booth. “We’re going to go out this week,” he announces, looking at his dad. Then he turns his head toward me. “Mom, can you drive me into town Tuesday? Traci has the night off, and we thought that maybe we’d go to see the new James Bond movie.”

“Sure.” I do my best to sound blasé. “I need to do some Christmas shopping anyway.”

A half hour later, we’ve finished our dinner and are waiting for our pie when Cooper nudges me. “Mom, Dane’s here.”

What? Impossible. Dane can’t be here. He’s in Brazil.

And yet jerking my head up, I see him, walking toward our booth. My pulse is now leaping like mad, acting like a colt first introduced to the saddle.

He’s wearing a denim shirt and old faded Wranglers and a pair of brown boots. The tails of his shirt aren’t tucked in, and the tips of his leather boots are scuffed and worn. Even though he hasn’t competed in years, he still looks like a cowboy—earthy and tough, and sexier than hell.

“I thought you were in Brazil,” I say, sitting tall.

“I leave Monday.”

“You really have to go?”

“Unfortunately.”

And then, aware of John seated across from me, I make the necessary introductions. “John, this is Dane Kelly, an old family friend and the one that’s been working with Cooper.”

John rises to shake Dane’s hand. Put side by side, they’re both the same height, around six two, and both handsome, but Dane makes John look slender in comparison.

“Nice of you to work with my son,” John says, stressing the possessive as he extends his hand to Dane. “Although I’m sure he’s told you that I have concerns about rodeos and the ethical treatment of animals.”

Dane shakes John’s hand. “I’ve enjoyed working with Cooper, and it sounds like you and I share the same concern about the treatment of animals.” His green gaze holds the hint of a challenge. “Good to know we’re on the same side.”

I can tell from John’s expression that Dane isn’t anything like what he imagined. Dane isn’t just some cowboy. Dane is big and rugged and charismatic.

“How long are you in town for?” Dane asks, arms folded across his deep barrel chest, making his broad shoulders and chest look even bigger.

“Not sure yet. At least a few days,” John answers.

“Have to get you out to my ranch. Show you what your boy can do. He’s pretty impressive for a twelve-year-old.”

John’s eyes narrow. “Cooper’s not supposed to be doing any dangerous stunts.”

“He’s not. He’s just working on his horseback-riding skills and roping skills. Things he’d need to know as a rancher.” Dane smiles, but it’s not a very warm smile. “Do you ride?”

John all but recoils. “No.”

“We could get you on a horse, too,” Dane offers. “Go on a trail ride with all the boys.” He glances at me. “If you’re free tomorrow, come on over. I’ll fire up the grill, throw a few steaks on.”

Traci arrives with an armful of dessert plates of the restaurant’s famous homemade pies, and the slices are generously cut.

“Want to join us?” Cooper asks Dane as Traci passes out the dessert plates and tells John his coffee’s on the way.

“No thanks, Coop, I’m just picking up a to-go order,” Dane answers. “But hopefully I’ll see you soon.” He nods at John and the boys and smiles at me and then heads to the cash register to pay for his meal.

John sits back down at the table but doesn’t seem to have much appetite for his pie. “It’s forty degrees out,” he says, pushing the prongs of his fork into the meringue topping. “Who’d want to go riding when it’s this cold?”

“Ranchers do every day,” Coop answers, taking a bite of his warm berry pie. “They have to.”

“Yes, but a trail ride? Come on, what kind of clown does he take me for?” John looks up, stares at Dane’s back as Dane talks to Traci at the register, then turns to me. “That’s him, isn’t it? The
old
family friend.”

I hear the ridicule in John’s voice, but strangely, it doesn’t bother me. I’m happy here. If he doesn’t like my life, he can get on a plane and leave. “Mmmm, love peach pie,” I say, smiling at my boys. “How’s yours?”

“You’re not even going to answer my question?” John asks.

I look at the man I loved for so many years and wonder what it was that brought us together. I know what kept us together—the boys. But without the boys, what did we have in common? Has he always been this critical? Or is he just insecure at the moment because he’s out of his element? Either way, I’ve just realized I’m okay with the divorce and definitely ready for the next stage of my life.

“Nope,” I say, calmly as I take another bite of the warm peach filling, the flavor sweet and delicately spiced with cinnamon. I don’t have to answer to him. This is my life.

And it’s going to be a great life, too.

John ends up leaving the next morning, flying out alone, and when Dane calls to follow up on his invitation, I tell him that John’s already left. “You and the boys are still welcome to come over,” Dane answers.

“How about I come over without the boys? ”

“And what would we do?”

I grin. “I don’t know. I’m sure we’d think of something.”

“We’re supposed to be taking it slow.”

“Oh, we will. Trust me.”

He laughs softly. “You are so dangerous.”

“I know. But you secretly like that,” I sass back, feeling warm and sexy and very excited about seeing him again. It’s been nine days since our date, and I miss him.

“What would you like to eat?”

“I’ll bring groceries and cook for you. It’s my turn to spoil you.”

I
arrive at Dane’s house right at six, and he greets me at the door looking gorgeous in jeans and a black linen shirt and as he kisses me, I inhale quickly. “Yum,” I say. He smells even better than he looks.

“Welcome.”

“It’s good to be back.”

“It’s good to have you back.”

My eyes meet his. There’s heat and awareness in his gaze, and I think this could be a very dangerous dinner.

“Would you like beer, wine, a cocktail?” he offers.

I lift the bottle of red wine from my shopping bag. “I brought wine.”

“I’ll open it.”

I follow him to the kitchen. The lights are dim throughout the house, and I see a couple of big fat ivory candles burning on the wood mantel over the stacked stone fireplace. “The house looks nice,” I say as he uncorks the wine. “I love the candles.”

“I did it for you.”

He sounds almost embarrassed, and I can’t help teasing him. “So you don’t light candles for yourself at night?”

“Not my style.”

While he pours the wine, I unpack the bag of groceries. As I set the filets on the limestone counter, I notice two framed photos on the edge of the counter.

Matthew.

Dane has brought the photos of Matthew back out from his office. I’m glad, so very glad. This is where Matthew’s pictures should be. Out and visible, front and center.

Dane hands me my glass, and we lightly clink the rims. “Happy holidays.”

“Happy holidays to you.”

“So where are the boys?” he asks. “You haven’t left them alone, have you?”

They’re old enough to be alone, but with Bo’s recent issues I didn’t want to leave them. But I don’t want to obsess about the boys tonight, so I simply answer that Charlotte’s taken them to Weatherford to Christmas shop and then see a movie.

Dane’s eyes gleam. “So what’s your curfew?”

“I don’t think there is one, although I probably can’t stay out all night. That would definitely arouse suspicions.”

“Don’t want to do that,” he answers as I finish unpacking my bag. I’ve brought everything I’ll need from skillet to seasonings. I’ve even partially baked the potatoes so they won’t take too long here.

“Anything I can do to help?” Dane asks, watching as I set up shop in his beautiful modern kitchen.

“Nope. I’m good. I just need to get the oven on, the filets in the skillet, and we’ll be good to go.”

While I heat the olive oil in the skillet for the filet mignon, Dane crouches before the massive hearth and lights a fire.

I lean on the counter, watching him. He’s such a big, handsome man, and everything he does seems sexy to me. He also happens to be great at laying a fire. The kindling ignites right away, and soon he’s adding a small log and then another to the flames.

“Can’t you stay for Christmas, and then fly out to Brazil on the twenty-sixth?” I ask impulsively, picturing old-fashioned Christmas with everyone I love together under one roof. “I want you to be with us. I think you’d have fun with us.”

He glances at me over his shoulder. “You’re not going to Brick and Char’s?”

“No, we are, but you could come, too.”

“Yeah, right. That’s not going to happen.”

I frown at his back. “I don’t want to have to pick between you and my family.”

“You don’t have to.” He rises carefully. “You can have us both, but just not at the same time.”

We end up eating on the big suede couch in front of the fire, and I don’t remember when wine or food tasted so good. I eat everything on my plate, too—steak, potato skin, and every shred of lettuce. “I’m stuffed,” I groan, setting my plate on the iron coffee table and stretching. “That was a huge steak, too.”

Dane’s been finished for a while and he smiles at me. “I’m impressed. You really put away that steak.”

I lean my head against the couch. “Did everything taste okay?”

“Everything was great. I’m a happy man.”

“I like to hear that.”

We sit in silence, listening to the crack and pop of the fire as the flames dance and throw shadows on the living room ceiling. “I love your house, Dane. It really is beautiful.”

He stares hard at the fire, brows drawn in concentration. After a long moment, he answers. “It is, I won’t argue that. But it’s a lot of house for one person. Sometimes it’s hard being the only one living here.”

“Is that why you let Lulu move in?”

He grimaces. “I shouldn’t have let her, but I like having company. Makes me feel a little more human.”

I hate the idea of Dane being so lonely here. It’s just not fair. He’s always been a family man. Even growing up, when he wasn’t with his own family, he was with mine.

“I’m glad to see Matthew’s pictures back out,” I tell him.

“Me too. I shouldn’t have ever put them away. It just felt wrong… So how’s Bo?”

I hesitate. “The last week has been pretty brutal. Friday it all came to a head, which was why John flew out. But Bo’s going to be okay. I have such faith in him.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. That’s such a good attitude, because I wasted so much of my time with Matthew worrying about all the things I couldn’t change, and anticipating the bad things that hadn’t happened but might.”

He draws a slow breath, his broad brow furrowed. “It wasn’t until after he was gone that I realized that I was so preoccupied with him dying that I missed out on him living.” Dane looks at me. “I wasn’t ever supposed to fix him—there was no cure for him, there was never going to be a solution. All I could do was love him.”

I move toward him and lean in to touch my mouth to his. “You’re amazing, Dane Kelly,” I say gently.

He kisses me back, and in seconds the tenderness explodes into fire. I’m hungry for him, desperate for him, and I end up on his lap again—seems to be my favorite place to be—and he’s tugging at my sweater.

As I sit up to peel the top off from over my head, he tells me, “You know how I bumped into you all last night at the Kountry Kitchen? It wasn’t by accident. Coop texted me. Told me to come check out his dad.”

“He didn’t!”

The edge of Dane’s mouth lifts, and he reaches around to unhook my bra. “I was already in town so I thought, Why not? ”

The bra falls away, but I cover my bare breasts with my arms. “You came to meet John.”

“He was rather ridiculous.”

“Because he wouldn’t go on the trail ride?”

“I knew he wouldn’t go riding. Coop had already told me his dad was afraid of horses. But I thought I’d make the offer anyway.”

“Just to make him uncomfortable.”

Dane laughs, enjoying the memory. “It was fun.”

“Dane!”

He’s completely unrepentant, and his hands circle my waist, his fingers so warm against my skin. “You’re the one who’s married to him.”

“Not for long. Yesterday we agreed on the boys’ custody and we’re having our lawyers file the custody plan the first week of January. Shouldn’t take long for the divorce to be granted now.”

His green gaze grows speculative. “Sure you’ve had enough time? Thought this through?”

“God, you’re horrible!” I drop my hands to begin unbuttoning his shirt. I have to have him out of his clothes, too. I want skin to skin. Need skin to skin.

He drags a hand through my long hair and pulls my mouth back down to his. He kisses me slowly, leisurely, thoroughly, until I’m squirming on his lap.

“Your shirt must go,” I pant against his mouth. “Now.”

He makes a rough sound deep in his throat as I finish unfastening the buttons and then push the offending fabric open and off his thickly muscled shoulders. His skin is warm and smooth, and I run my hands across the shoulders and deltoids and then down over the hard planes of his chest. The man’s body is beyond beautiful, and I want him naked.

“Are you on the pill?” he asks, his palms against my breasts, his hands so warm that I can’t think straight. “Last time we didn’t use anything… can’t do that again. That was stupid.”

“No, I’m not on the pill, but I don’t get pregnant easily. I had to work hard to make each of the boys.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring.”

I lean against his hands, arch my back. “You don’t have a condom?”

“I don’t carry them around in my wallet.”

“How about in your nightstand?”

“Maybe.”

I laugh. “You do.”

“I am a man.”

I rock on his hips just enough to create some friction between his body and mine. He’s got a great erection. Be a shame to let it go to waste. I lean against him, rub my breasts against his bare chest, and whisper in his ear, “Go get them.”

He grabs my hips, pulls me down hard on him, and I gasp. “Why don’t we go upstairs? It’s a big bed and very comfortable.”

“But the fire’s nice,” I whisper before kissing him slowly, erotically. Once I find his tongue, I suck on the tip and feel him practically jump beneath me.

“I have a fireplace in my bedroom, too,” he growls.

“So what are we waiting for, cowboy?”

In the bedroom, Dane knows how to please. I feel as if we’re kids exploring as we try a little of everything. And it’s the sexiest sex I’ve ever had in my life.

I love this man. I just hope this man loves me.

I arrive home at one in the morning and creep into the house, careful to reset the alarm behind me. I’m smiling as I slide between the sheets of my bed and still smiling when I wake up the next morning.

We’re four days from Christmas Eve, five from Christmas, and nothing can dampen my mood. I shop and wrap and bake and whistle.

Whistle.

How ridiculous is that?

I’m still wrapping and baking and whistling when Dane stops by with a box full of wrapped gifts for me and the boys. “What are you doing?” I say, flustered. I haven’t bought anything for him. I’ve wanted to, and started to, but I wasn’t sure we were at that point in our relationship.

“I’m just on my way to the airport but thought you needed some gifts under your tree,” he answers, carrying the box into the living room and carefully placing each gift beneath the tree boughs.

I see all the little tags with our names printed on them: Shey. Hank. Bo. Cooper. Lacey.

Even Lacey gets a gift.

I bite my lip, checking my smile. “That’s so sweet of you, but Dane, I don’t have anything for you yet—”

He stands, shrugs slightly. “I’m not expecting anything. I did this because I wanted to.”

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’ll stay in touch, I promise.”

It’s the first Christmas the boys have spent away from New York, and I don’t think their first Texas Christmas is one to forget. We have tamales and enchiladas at Brick and Charlotte’s on Christmas Eve, and then coming home, I let the boys open a gift from me before bed. Christmas morning they have stockings, even though they’re getting too old and it’s getting harder and harder to find fun stocking stuffers for boys their age. Then later, around noon, we head back to Brick and Charlotte’s for more presents and Christmas dinner.

Once all the gifts are open, I clean up torn wrapping paper and strewn ribbon and find myself thinking about Dane.

I wonder what he’s doing in Brazil for Christmas. I wonder how he’s celebrating, or if he’s even celebrating. I wish now I’d sent a small gift with him. Just so he’d have something to open.

I carry an armful of crumpled paper outside to the garbage can, and as I smash it down, Charlotte comes out with an armful of her own.

“You okay, hon?” she asks me, pushing her paper on top of mine.

“Yes. Why?”

“You seem kind of down.”

“Oh, I’m good. I’m not down. I’m just thinking about Dane.”

“You two have been seeing a lot of each other. Is it getting serious?”

I can see us from the other night, having dinner at Dane’s house, sitting on the couch in front of the fire. It was a cozy dinner. Fun and romantic and real.

It feels right when I’m with him. I feel right. I feel like myself. I don’t have to pretend with him. I don’t have to project anything or sell anything. I just have to be me—Shey—not the supermodel or the glamour girl.

Charlotte’s still waiting for an answer and her expression is so sweet and hopeful it makes me want to hug her. “I hope so,” I say, smiling crookedly. “I’m still pretty crazy about that guy.”

The next morning, I print the boys’ boarding passes and am trying to get them to close their luggage and load the back of the truck, but Lacey senses that something’s up and keeps climbing into Bo’s open bag and lying down inside. Even Hank has to laugh at Lacey’s antics, but finally the bags are zipped, packed, and the boys are in the truck. Lacey’s in the truck, too, coming along for the ride.

At the airport, I hug and kiss each of the boys good-bye while Lacey whines from the truck. “Love you,” I tell each of them. “Call me when you can.”

Bo gives me an extra hug. “Love you, Mom. Thanks for helping me.”

“Always, baby.”

And then they’re off, and I hold my breath as I watch them walk into the terminal, the air bottled inside me until they disappear through the tinted glass doors. It’s then that I exhale.

My boys.

My heart.

On the drive back to the ranch, Lacey lies with her muzzle on my thigh. Every now and then she sighs heavily, and I reach down to rub her ears and pat her back. “I understand, girl,” I tell her after yet another sigh. “I feel the same way you do.”