Read She’s Gone Country Online
Authors: Jane Porter,Jane Porter
He just looks at me. I can’t see anything in his eyes, and the lack of all emotion terrifies me.
“I won’t get an abortion,” I say swiftly, determined to say what I must say. “But I also don’t need you to make any rash romantic overtures. I’ll be forty in February. I’ve got a home, and income, and a supportive family—”
“Is it my baby?”
His voice is so deep and rough that it’s like nails against a chalkboard. “Yes. Of course it’s yours.”
“Then why cut me out?”
I wince. “Because you’ve been through this before, and I won’t do it to you again—”
“But I haven’t been through it before. Not with you. Not with this child.” He draws a quick, deep breath. “I loved Matthew, but as you know, he wasn’t here long. I didn’t have a lot of time with him. But I’d love to have that experience again. To be a dad. To be someone’s father.”
We’re still sitting in the drive in front of my house, and the wind howls outside his truck and the sky’s a dark, stormy gray. “But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It wasn’t supposed to happen until we were ready.”
“Maybe we wouldn’t have ever been ready.”
I glance at him sharply. “Why not?”
“My career. Your children. Our history.”
“So I’ve trapped you.”
“No, the pregnancy wasn’t planned, but you didn’t trap me.” He sees my face, shakes his head. “Why are you so upset? Help me understand.”
Suddenly I’m suffocating in his truck, suffocating sitting here. I fumble with the door handle and open the door, swinging it wide. I step down and move away from the truck but don’t know where to go next. Don’t know what to do. I love Dane, and once upon a time I wanted his baby more than anything. But not now, not like this.
Dane opens his door, climbs out of the truck. “It’s cold, Shey. Let’s get back in the truck, go for a drive.”
I shake my head.
“Then let’s go inside the house. Your mom is standing at the kitchen window watching us.”
I glance over my shoulder toward the house, and he’s right. There’s Mama at the window, watching us as intently as though we were her favorite reality show.
“Let’s walk,” I say, shivering.
“Where?”
“The barn. Brick’s house. I don’t care.”
We set off down the driveway, and as we walk I notice Dane’s limp becoming more pronounced. I hate that I notice, hate that I care so much. “Your hip,” I say as we approach the barn. “It’s bothering you, isn’t it.”
“It’s the cold,” he admits, leaning on his cane more heavily than usual. “But I’m fine. I’m used to it.”
But I’m not fine with him hurting. I don’t want him hurting. The whole point of loving someone is that you want to help them and protect them.
“Stop it,” he says quietly. “Stop whatever weird masochistic scenario you’ve got going on inside your head. You and I made love. We didn’t use protection. We’re not teenagers. We had to know there could be consequences. And there are. So we deal with it.”
“So what do you propose?” I ask, bundling my coat closer to my body.
“We get married and move you and the boys into my house and raise the baby together.”
He makes it sound so simple and so very practical. But I might as well be Shellie Ann. He spoke no words of love, just words of duty, responsibility. He’ll provide. He’ll take care of us. He’ll do the right thing. But that’s not what I want from him. I need his heart.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” I say, pushing open the weathered barn door and stepping inside. It’s musty but warmer, and I fumble on the wall for the light switch. The single bulb overhead clicks on, illuminating a rail of saddles and a broken-down tractor parked in the corner. “It’s not. I’ve waited so long to be with you, and then this… this…”
He waits.
And my hysteria builds. “This isn’t right, Dane. You must see that. You must realize. But this baby, this baby is—”
“A miracle,” he completes my thought.
I turn to look at him sharply.
Dane has taken a seat on the wheel of the tractor. “You’re giving me a miracle.”
I’ve never heard anyone say anything so beautiful. And some of my pain and fear eases. “What if… what if there are what ifs?… I am almost forty…”
“I’d love him or her no matter what.”
Just as he loved Matthew.
Just as he always loved me.
“Dane—” I choke, and I reach out to him. “This just feels wrong. It’s not the way I wanted it.”
He takes my hand and draws me toward him. “How did you want it?”
“I wanted us to have a proper romance and a proper courtship, and then if it all worked out, a proper wedding—”
“Just like a storybook,” he says, holding me captive between his thighs.
“Yes,” I answer huskily. I don’t know where to put my hands. It doesn’t seem right to rest them on his legs. Too much muscle there. Too much intimacy. “All pretty and shiny with a tidy, happy ending.”
“But that’s not real.” He pushes hair from my cheek and tucks it back behind my ear. “Life isn’t pretty and shiny and tidy. It’s chaotic and ever changing, sometimes intense, sometimes damn boring. And sometimes just perfect, which is pretty incredible when you consider how imperfect we are.”
“Dane, I’m scared.”
“Good, so am I.”
Dane Kelly, the man who’s ridden some of the world’s rankest bulls, is scared? I crack a wry smile. “Why are you scared?”
“Because you don’t have to do this… marry me, or raise a family with me. You could decide you’re going to do this all on your own.”
“That scares you?”
“Hell, yes. God knows I need you.” He drops his head and presses his lips to my forehead. “God knows I’ve been lonely. That house of mine needs you and I need you, and together we can fill it with the boys and the baby and love.”
I want the love part most. I need the love part, too. “You love me.”
“Since forever.”
“That’s a long time.”
“And I’m a really old man.”
I shake my head, determined to hold myself rigid against the warmth of his lips on my skin. I can’t let myself feel. Can’t let myself cave in. Mustn’t be seduced by the physical.
Be strong.
Be strong.
Be strong.
His lips move to my temple and press another light kiss there. “I do love you, beautiful girl,” he whispers. “Won’t you come live with me? Won’t you come be a family with me? Won’t you please be my wife?”
I squeeze my eyes against the tears. “You’re just saying that because you knocked me up.”
“I’m not saying that because I knocked you up. I’m saying it because it’s true.”
“Huh!” I sniff, trying to wrestle free, but his hands are locked on my lower back. His thighs hold me immobile. I put my hands against his chest and push, and push, but he doesn’t let me go. “You can’t trap me into marriage, Dane.”
He’s smiling into my eyes. “I think I just have.”
“You don’t want to marry me!”
“Oh, but I do. That’s why your folks sent you away. Brick told them I wanted to elope with you, and your watchdog of a brother wasn’t going to let it happen.”
“You’re just making this up.”
“And you’re ruining our romantic moment. How can I make it like a storybook if you won’t cooperate?”
I crack a smile even as tears tremble on my lashes. “I don’t want a storybook. I just want you.”
“You’ve got me, darlin’. That’s never been in doubt.”
I lean into him, rest on him. “So what do we tell everyone?”
“That you seduced me. Couldn’t keep your hands off me—”
“Dane!”
“Well, it’s true.”
I look into his eyes, eyes I’ve loved nearly all my life. “It is true,” I admit. “And I guess I knew that sooner or later it’d get me into trouble.”
Blending a family is far from easy, and keeping Cooper, Bo, Hank (when he visits), Dane, and baby Sophie happy under one roof—even one as big as Dane’s house—is difficult and sometimes downright impossible. But we’re trying.
Sophie was born two and a half months ago and is pretty perfect if you can overlook the colic, which isn’t always easy to do. The boys thought they’d love having a baby sister, but her hours of screaming have seriously tested their devotion.
Dane’s on the road more often than home right now, but come the end of December he won’t be traveling until he begins his stint again in August. In the meantime I have Mama, and she’s been a huge help. That’s right. My mama is practically my new best friend. Why?
She’s got the magic touch with Sophie. It doesn’t matter how long Sophie’s been crying, the moment my mother picks her up, Sophie calms down, nestles into Mama’s shoulder, and goes to sleep.
I don’t think I ever truly appreciated my mother until now.
Mama’s a great woman, and I’m proud to be part of this family. Yes, it’s been a tough couple of years. John leaving. Our move from New York. Bo’s depression. Cody’s death. And then the unexpected pregnancy. But all those negatives also have positives. All that change brought growth and hope, strength and love.
Like the girls’ program I run now in Mineral Wells, where I offer free classes for eleven-to-eighteen-year-olds on fashion and modeling, self-esteem, and goal setting.
And the monthly column I’ve begun writing for
Teen Cosmo
on how it’s beautiful to be strong.
Sure, it’s hard juggling all the different roles, and sometimes it’s a little messy, but my messy life gives my mama a purpose, makes her feel needed, and makes me realize how much she’s always loved me. Me, Shey Lynne, her own baby girl.
Here’s to the girls. We rock.
We really do.
I’m a mom and a writer, in that order. I love being a mother, too, particularly a mother of sons, as it’s made me look at men differently. I’ve always been drawn to strong men—the classic alpha hero—but the process of turning little boys into men is bittersweet and sometimes downright painful.
Men enter this world as babies—helpless infants, gorgeous infants—and mothers dote on their babies, kissing and cuddling and cradling. Our beloved babies become toddlers and the toddlers become boys and with each new phase and stage, our boys learn new life lessons. Hard life lessons. Lessons about what being male means and how real boys don’t cry and aren’t sensitive and don’t go running to Mommy for comfort.
I’ve watched the confusion in my boys’ faces as they’ve been told to “suck it up” and “take it” and “deal with it.” I’ve seen their expressions as they glance at me and then turn away, having finally internalized that they cannot continue to come to me. To become a man they must break away. Must shoulder life and responsibility and pain on their own.
And now I have a new baby, a third son, and we start the process all over again even as my oldest son enters his sophomore year of high school and my middle son begins middle school.
It’s a tricky thing being a mother, a series of balancing acts and risks and challenges, but it’s also the best and greatest thing I’ve ever done. Not every woman needs to be a mother. Not every woman should be a mother. But I wouldn’t be me without my boys.
My favorite author when I was growing up was Louisa May Alcott and my favorite Alcott novels were
Little Men
and
Jo’s Boys
—novels about raising boys. My mother said I was destined to be a mother of boys, and she was a right. My boys are my heart. They own it completely even as they wrestle and tussle their way into adulthood.
I realize now it was inevitable that I’d write a novel about raising boys, and I loved Shey’s busy, complicated life made even more challenging due to her three sons, three brothers, and first love, Dane Kelly. But strong Texas men aren’t fictional. My grandfather was a Texan, a cattleman, and a very handsome man. He died the year I was born but his portrait dominated my grandmother’s family room as did the paintings of the ranches he once owned. After he died my grandmother sold off the cattle and two of the three ranches but kept his favorite, the one closest to where we all lived. Growing up, I spent every Easter on that ranch, and during Easter week we rode horses, played in the corral, picked wildflowers, and generally ran wild.
I love that my family raised me to love the land and fields and big sky. I love that they gave me confidence and taught me courage and pushed me to succeed. And maybe that’s what’s important. Not that we have boys or girls, but that we make sure we raise confident children who aren’t afraid to take risks and are encouraged to dream.