Any Man of Mine (Holmes Crossing Book 5) Page 6

  Those benches were also where I watched Wyatt learn the tricks of the trade from my rodeo-crazy brothers.

  In spite of my pain, I still felt a nudge of nostalgia for those days, even though I grumbled and griped about having to come along. I wanted to stay home and play with my dolls or sew or read, but Mom didn't want me to be alone. So I came along and leaned on the rail, inhaled dust and dirt while my brothers pitted their brawn and brains against horses bred to buck.

  Those were the innocent days.

  "C'mon. He's a good un' Jigs," I heard Chip cry out, leaning over the chute they had rigged up. "Watch he don't spin on you."

  No. No. They were working a bronc.

  I couldn't be here. I spun around to leave then stumbled. I looked down to see the heel of my shoe caught in a crack.

  "Dani. What are you doing here?" Chip yelled at me, his voice holding a panicked note. He turned and waved. "Jigs. You better get off now."

  I guessed their good buddy was the one on the horse in the chute. All I saw of the infamous Jigs was his the back of his hat, his dusty shirt straining over his broad shoulders and his gloved hands checking his rigging. It looked like he had already taken a few spills.

  He pushed his hat further down on his head, gave a nod, Carter jumped down and swung open the gate. Suddenly, Jigs and the horse were out. The horse was a huge gelding named Truck Trouble. I'd seen him before. He was rough and big and loved to buck. And he was giving Jigs a good working over. Dust flew, and I heard the grunt coming from the rider each time the horse landed. I wanted to leave but I couldn't seem to look away.

  Truck Trouble spun and twisted, but Jigs kept his head low and stayed on, spurring him and getting a good rhythm.

  Finally, Chip rang the bell, signalling eight seconds, and with a roar of pride Jigs leapt off the horse, landed on his feet and sent his hat into the air in the traditional gesture of victory.

  "Way to go, Jigs," Carter called out.

  "Great ride," Carter added.

  As Jigs turned, he ran his gloved hands through his hair and looked up at me, his teeth a white slash of victory against his dusty skin.

  And ice slipped through my veins.

  Jigs, the saddle bronc maniac, was none other than my Schubert-loving, poetry-spouting James Ashby.

  4

  Dust floated down between us as James stared at me. All the vague hints and not-so-vague urgings to "stay away" and my brothers' parting comments about a bet that day at the garage came crashing together with a mind-numbing jar. Of course they wanted me to stay away. They didn't want me to discover their little plan to get Jigs--James, whoever he was, and their sister together.

  They didn't want me to find out about their bet and, I'm guessing, neither did Jigs backslash James.

  On top of that, they probably wanted a detailed play-by-play from their newfound friend of how dead easy it was to fool their romantic sister. I had heard enough recaps of dates from my brothers over the breakfast table or dinner table to know exactly what their conversation had covered.

  My imagination was making my cheeks burn and my blood pressure rise. And this...person was in on the whole thing.

  How could I have been so dumb? And how could my brothers do this? Why did they never, ever stop to think about the repercussions for me?

  Freddie Cramer, AKA Fearless Freddie, was the last time they had made a bet on me. I was heartbroken because I didn't have a date for the annual Holmes Crossing Composite High School Frosty Formal. When Freddie asked me out I was ecstatic. Then I found out that my brothers had made a bet with Freddie and another friend. I could have walked away from that situation with my pride intact, had I been the prize.

  Instead, I found out that the loser of the bet had to take me to the Frosty Formal.

  I didn't talk to my brothers until the Christmas Eve service when the minister encouraged us to pass the peace. I would have preferred to pass a few other things, like a good smack, but the peace of Christmas had descended on me and I was in a mood to be generous.

  I got my own back though. The boys' punishment was being sent to the cosmetics counter of a local department store. Mom made them buy my favourite perfume, lotion and other assorted feminine products.

  As far as I knew, they never did it again. Until now. Not only was it a stupid bet, it was a stupid bet with a saddle bronc rider, and this time I didn't have Mom to help me out with the punishment.

  They knew I would never, ever, date one of their 'guy' friends again and especially not anyone even remotely connected to the rodeo. Did they not remember how painful it was to lose Wyatt? He had been Neils's buddy, his friend. Did he not even clue in to the fact that this would be hard for me?

  Anger vied with shame and pain laced with humiliation. I had liked this guy--man--well, actually, guy. While not exactly gearing up to register my china pattern, I was daring to doodle plans for future dates based on a pleasant evening.

  What a fool I was.

  So I crossed my arms, rooted to the spot by anger and sorrow and fury as James/Jigs vaulted over the side of the arena and ran up toward me. "Hey, Danielle," he called out, his voice full of pleasure. And why wouldn't it be? He had me fooled with his Schubert and his poetry and his nice suit. He had won.

  My mind was scrambling around, trying to find something scathing to say while I struggled with too many emotions. Finally I found something to latch onto that wouldn't make me cry. The stupid bet.

  "So, how much did my brothers give you for me?" I asked in my best imitation of my mom. I had to jump on the defensive or my voice would start that little wobble thing that always drove my brothers nuts.

  James pulled his hat off and frowned. "What are you talking about?" His hair, now free from the constricting gel that had held it in place last night, fell across his forehead. It looked longer. Softer.

  Are you a complete idiot? This character had some old-fashioned guy fun with your brothers, at your expense, and you're admiring the fact that he's not using hair products today?

  I pushed the anger back into my voice, reminded myself of how insensitive my brothers were. "The bet. Did they have to convince you to take it, or were you all over it the minute you found out about me?"

  "Pardon me?"

  He was really good. He had that whole innocent thing down pat. Some of my more delinquent foster kids could take lessons from him.

  "C'mon, Jigs," I said, putting extra emphasis on the nickname my brothers used for him. "I know exactly what's going on here."

  Last night his smile had made me kind of trembly, made me feel all feminine and attractive.

  Now, as he absently brushed sawdust off the crown of his hat, he gave me a mocking grin which made it easier to stoke the fires of my righteous indignation. He was taller than Wyatt, broader in the shoulders. But he was still a bronc rider.

  And my brothers had made a bet with him. How could I have been so stupid? So trusting?

  In spite of all those years of teasing and tormenting, it still hurt that my brothers would resort to this. That they ignored or, worse, forgot how much it had hurt to lose Wyatt.

  On top of that they had coached James so well in the things they seemed to think I liked that, for a few hours, I had actually thought I had met a caring, sensitive man.

  "Let me guess how this worked," I said, my anger building. "I didn't exactly fall all over you when they introduced us at the garage. Your pride was hurt so you and the boys got together and figured out the best way to get to me. Hence the haircut, the clean-shaven look, the suit..." I let this all sink in to his ‘guy’ brain. "Whose idea was the poetry? That was a nice touch."

  James shrugged, not the slightest hint of shame in his expression. "Glad you liked it."

  "It was inspired." I spat the words out, glared at my brothers, then back at James, or rather, Jigs. "And now I know why my brothers were so eager for me to stay away from here. How long were you hoping to keep this up before you sprung this on me? A week? A month? Did you have the meter ticking
?" I stopped because I could feel the faint prick of tears in my eyes. I took a deep breath and got to my finale. "I hope you and my brothers got a good laugh out of the whole business. I hope you enjoyed yourself, and I hope I never see you again." I spun around and stormed back out of the arena, which was tricky considering I was wearing two-inch heels and the floor was dirt.

  Of course there were no violins, wind machines or slow-motion camera shots. Of course James didn't call out my name and come running after me to tell me I had it all wrong or that he was sorry.

  This wasn't a romantic movie. This was a reality show--Danielle and Her Brothers. And the reality was that my coat caught on the door as I swung it open and a breeze coming in from outside tossed my long hair into my eyes and ended up reducing the impact of my supposedly dramatic exit.

  What made it even worse, what really added to the perfection of the moment, was that as I was pushing my hair back so I could see to free my coat, I heard James--no, make that Jigs--call out, "Well, that went well."

  I had coached Laurel Milligan through childbirth. I learned all about the breathing technique to help her relax, and I used it now.

  I had to, or I would have left the coat hanging on the door while I went inside and performed an act of violence on any male within hitting distance.

  It was not my best moment.

  "It's not fair. Lord," I wailed, as I drove home, thumping the steering wheel for emphasis, much like a preacher would the pulpit to drive a point home. "I finally think I find a decent man and he ends up being in cahoots with my brothers. He ends up being a saddle-bronc rider. I know I'm not supposed to hate him or them, but right now my grapes of wrath are being trampled. Hard. Why are they always so miserable?" I caught myself mid-whine. I knew I should stop but I was on a roll. "Why can't they treat me like a sister instead of like a buddy?" I said aloud, my voice growing in volume with each complaint. "Why can't they even think, for once, that this might have been hard for me?" Then, in spite of my sorrow and fury, I added, "And why couldn't that James person have turned out to be a nice man who would care for me and be all sensitive, who would give me flowers and buy pretty presents for my birthday instead of windshield wiper fluid for my car, like the boys do? Or be someone who talks about the best and latest rigging..."

  Now my voice did wobble, which made me feel like a quavery teenager, only adding to my frustration. I was a grown woman. I had been hardened in the crucible of living with my brothers. Being a sob-sister was not tolerated. It had been four years. Surely I should be over losing Wyatt by now, my brothers sure were.

  "Sorry, Lord," I added. "I don't mean to be complaining and I know I don't have anything to kvetch about, but it sure would be nice to be treated a little better by the males in my life." I waited a moment, letting my emotions settle down.

  I thought of Kent, who, thanks to Tracy's intervention, was now in a safe foster home while his mother got her life back on track. Apparently with Chip.

  It was then that I realized I had been so busy defending my honour, keeping my heart secure, and a lock on my past pain, that I forgot to talk to Chip about Juanita. And Steve. I had to remember to tell him, or I would end up caught in the crossfire.

  I wanted to pin the accelerator, but I made myself take my time on the muddy roads. The last thing I wanted was to have to put up with one of my brothers, or Jigs, having to pull me out of the ditch.

  I got home in one piece, and as I entered the house I heard the excited voice of a sports commentator describing an amazing goal some defense player had made. Playoff season. How could I forget?

  I paused in the door of the living room, but Dad didn't look up. Of late, my father didn't take kindly to distractions and I doubted I would get a sympathetic ear if I told him what his sons had done. So, I slouched off to my bedroom to pout in private.

  As I changed, I caught my reflection in the mirror. I brushed my long, blond hair back from my face and took a moment to study my face. Sort of pretty if you liked the pale look. Ordinary nose, mouth needed lipstick. Eyes, okay, as long as I put mascara on the pale eyelashes.

  Had James seen anything he liked about me?

  I thought again of his comment when I came into the garage, his look at the supermarket checkout. How he smiled at me when we were at the restaurant. How he looked at me when we walked toward the river.

  The almost kiss.

  I spun away from the mirror. What did I care what some guy-friend of my brothers’ thought about me? I was a joke, a bet, a deal, a heartless challenge. Pick one.

  I forced myself to calm down, took a few deep breaths, then walked into the living room and laid my hand on my dad's shoulder to get his attention. He looked up at me. "You're home late. Busy day at work?"

  "How are you feeling?"

  He lifted his hand and waggled it back and forth. "Tired, but not too bad." He patted my hand, then turned his attention back to the game. I watched a moment, getting drawn into the drama. Our team was winning but only by one. The players circled the ice, looking up at the clock and scoreboard. I liked to participate in the dinner conversation from time to time, so occasionally I watched the games.

  But tonight I didn't care what my brothers’ thought. I didn't care about them at all. I had to get supper going.

  "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," I said to my father. He nodded, leaning forward as the referee blew the whistle again.

  As I peeled potatoes, scraped carrots, and fried chicken, my mind kept slipping back to the humiliation of the afternoon. Was I so desperate that I jumped on any available male without being suspicious?

  And what was there to be suspicious of? I thought James was a nice person. A stranger in town who respected my faith, who could talk for five minutes without mentioning anything remotely resembling a sports statistic or diesel motors.

  I cringed all over again when I remembered the conversations I'd had with him. Especially my "man and guy" rant. He must have had a great laugh with my brothers over that one.

  And my brothers? Didn't they care about me at all? Were my feelings simply something to have fun with? Did they not care what they were doing to me.

  As my thoughts spun around and around, my blood boiled. I looked at the potatoes, now covered with water, waiting until the boys were home .

  I made a radical decision.

  No more waiting, like Mom always did, for them to come home before I cooked the vegetables. No more waiting until they washed their hands before I put the dressing on the Caesar salad, preventing the croutons from getting soggy.

  Until I officially moved out, supper would be served on my schedule, not the other way around. I put the carrots on the stove and turned on the heat on under them with a vicious twist of my wrist.

  You rebel, you.

  I set the table and then joined my father.

  "How soon is supper, honey?"

  "In about twenty minutes."

  "Are the boys here yet?"

  "Doesn't matter. Dinner's ready in twenty, we're eating in twenty."

  This netted me a puzzled glance, but I didn't respond. I had decided and I would not yield. Fifteen minutes later I got up to do the last-minute preparations when I heard the back door slam, and my brothers' voices, and disappointment pressed on my tired brain.

  What was the use of trying to make a point when the people didn't stay away long enough for the point to be made?

  Carter, Chip and Neil burst into the kitchen, laughing and joking. I stood with my back to them, ignoring them, but they didn't break ranks or pace, and headed straight for the bathroom to wash up. No remorse. No, "Gee, sister, I'm sorry we messed with your mind and your heart and your memories."

  Just a faint reduction of chatter as they passed by me.

  I poured the water off the carrots and put the pot on the table. Life. It was the same old, same old. I really had to get out of here.

  "Chip, you need to know Juanita is in a fragile place. I don't want you going out with her and then changing your min
d. Besides, this Steve guy is not someone you want to fool around with. You be careful." I had Chip on speaker so I had my hands free to put the finishing touches on my resumé.

  It was Wednesday, I was working after hours, so I didn't have to feel guilty about using government time to go job hunting. The position I was applying for looked like a dream one--working for an international adoption agency. Some travel was required. Boy, howdy, did that sound like the situation for me. Travel was exactly the thing I needed right now. I was ready to geographically extend the boundaries of my life.

  My big talk with my brothers Friday night had fizzled into a complaint about their matchmaking, which wasn't the issue. They couldn't understand my hurt and my frustration. So, instead of three grovelling contrite brothers, I got The Look and The Shrug. I knew it would be a waste of my time to even bring up the whole I-don't-date-cowboys issue because they didn't seem to think that should matter anymore. The only one who had the grace to look ashamed was Neil, and so he should, considering he and Wyatt were friends.

  But, as soon as I was done they all converged in the living room to watch the game that had been recorded while we ate. That, at least, was the one concession I had wrung from them. We all ate together in the dining room with the television off. We were supposed to have dinner-time conversation, but all that happened was me lecturing them.

  Saturday I got up early and headed to work to avoid any potential postmortems. I caught up on the paperwork I often drowned in and ignored James' calls and texts. Sunday I told the boys to tell Jigs/James to leave me alone. I wasn't interested. I also stayed home from church when I found out they were going just in case their betting buddy might be there, though I kind of doubted it.

  Monday and Tuesday were a blur of work and complaints and Casey nagging at me to keep my hours down.

  My anger with boys and life made me forget to talk to Chip about Juanita.