Do Him Right (8 page)

Reata slid closer and told her quietly. “Chet’s in the bar.”

Shana bit her lip, restrained her urge to look for him and
thanked the woman who was fast becoming her friend.

“I see a table over here, Shana.” Jeff led her toward the
back of the hall. When they were seated, he raised his hand to a waitress and
ordered two beers.

The band was well into
The Tennessee Waltz
, and the
Friday night crowd was doing more talking than dancing. So when Jeff paid for
the drinks, took a swig of his and held his hand out to her to dance, she knew
they’d be only the third couple on that very big floor.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jeff.” He was a good
dancer but not a graceful one. And a waltz, even the Texas-two-step version,
required a command of the floor and precision that he had never possessed. She
knew people here. Lots of them by now. And they had always seen her in the arms
of a man who took to this floor like he’d been born to it. She didn’t want to
embarrass Jeff, and she certainly didn’t want Chet to see how she looked in the
embrace of another man. “Let’s have our drinks. Wait a bit.”

“Let’s not.” He pulled her forward and, lest she shame him
and allow him to look bad in a town where he needed to become known, she went.

He must have been nervous. His timing was off and for that,
try though she might, she couldn’t save him from himself. To make matters
worse, from the corner of her eye, she saw an impossibly tall, buff male take
up a position on the side wall, staring at them.

Chet. Chet. What are you doing? Don’t get angry. This isn’t
worth it.

The tune wasn’t over quickly enough for her. She put a hand
to her heart, feeling the rising tempo of her fear of confrontation.

But the next song was a Virginia reel, and Jeff insisted
they do that too. Buried in more of a crowd, she felt marginally better, but
the tension riled her stomach.

As they applauded the band, she told him, “I’ve got to go
home, Jeff. I’m not feeling well.”

He narrowed his gaze at her. “Really?”

She disliked him then. Oh, she had tolerated his arrogance
as a businessman. She had at one time in her young life been briefly flattered
by his attention to her. But she knew now he paled beside the likes of
charming, tender, gallant Chet.

Huffing, she spun on her heel. “Don’t bother,” she muttered
as she beelined her way through the crowd. “I can go myself.”

Jeff was right behind her, grabbing her arm and spinning her
around. “Stop, for chrissakes!”

“Let me go!”

“I don’t think I will.” He grinned with an evil curve to his
mouth. “You’re my—”

“Employee,” she clarified as she yanked at him to let her
go. “And that’s all I am to you. Ever.”

“Take your hands off the lady, Wentworth.”

Chet. Chet with his barrel-deep bass warning a man to treat
her right. Chet with his warm solid body heating hers as he stepped behind her.
Chet, towering over her as he always had with comfort and care. Chet, hovering
over Jeff and in those few inches, making the other man drop his hold and back
away.

“I’ll take you back,” Jeff declared.

“I don’t think so,” Chet objected, anger flushing his cheeks
and putting steel in his eyes.

Shana escaped them both by sidestepping and leaving them to
face each other, two bulls in the ring.

Reata joined Shana as she beat a path to the front door. “Can
I give you a ride home?”

She nodded.
Home.
“What a great idea.” They could
fight but she didn’t want to hang around to witness it. She never did. She was
good at running.

Three weeks later, Shana’s Aunt Mary brought the house phone
to her as she sat on the back porch overlooking her aunt’s south acreage. The
older woman looked at Shana as sorrowfully as she had so many times when Chet
had returned Shana’s calls on business and she’d been brief with him. It had
taken all Shana’s courage to talk to him about rodeo details.

She had thought it would be easier to complete her planning
if she were far away from him, where she could be focused totally on the rodeo’s
success. She had assumed she would be more objective. To some extent that was
true, except for the fact that she didn’t sleep well at night and walked the
floor, reliving what she’d lost, yearning for what she needed with him. So if
she had more time to complete her plans here at her aunt’s ranch, Shana also
had more time to realize that if she was successful at building the Hayward
rodeo into a first-class event, she could then work on the courage it would
take her to confront the real issues that separated her from Chet.

If Chet perceived that or if he had just given up on her
when she’d left him, Shana could never tell by his voice on the phone. He was
distant and cool. Always.
Was this Chet calling now to once more be the
efficient businessman and show her his indifference?

“Shana, darlin’,” Aunt Mary began now as she put her hand
over the receiver. “This is your boss. I know you said you wanted to talk to
him if he called.”

Shana reached for the phone.

“Hello, Jeff.” She’d known she’d have to have this
conversation some time, though she wished she could have waited until opening
night of the rodeo. “How are you?”

“Better now that you’re talking to me,” he said with rare
contrition in his voice. “Look, Shana, let me start off by saying I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Jeff. I appreciate it,” she told him with all
honesty. He’d just been himself. If that wasn’t what she wanted in a man, in a
lover, in a mate, or even in an employer, his nature wasn’t something he needed
to regret. “Circumstances weren’t good that day. It all went sour because that
was what was meant to be.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She knew it would be the last words that
passed between them that held any kind of intimacy. She switched to the
professional aspect that had brought them together four years ago. “I hope you’ve
had an opportunity to read my latest reports.”

“I have. They’re very detailed. You’ve done a spectacular
job. Hayward will reap the rewards.”

“I do believe you’re right,” she declared with more joy. “Will
you go to the opening?”

“No. I think I might not want to show my face in Hayward for
quite some time.”

“Don’t be like that, Jeff. They should welcome you. You came
up with the plan.”

“No, Shana, you did.”

She was grateful for the acknowledgment. “And you agreed to
the lower retainer.”

“Yes, and since you left Hayward and went home to Uvalde,
you haven’t even charged that amount for living expenses.”

“Right. I didn’t need them.”

“I’m giving them to you, Shana.”

“You
charged them
my expenses?” Oh, she would be
madder than a coyote if he had.

“No. I’m just paying you for them anyway. I know you’ll turn
around and give them to your aunt.”

Shana was quiet, stunned with his perception—his generosity
and his atonement. Maybe there was hope for him after all. “I would.”

“And I’m giving you a bonus too.”

“No.”

“Yes, ten percent on the retainer. I saw the ticket sales
for the first performance on opening night, Shana. What with Kylee’s small take
and the enormous ticket sales, they can well afford to give us more. I had a
talk with Sam Trunbridge this morning, and they are sending it over with this
month’s retainer.”

“That’s very generous of Sam.” She wondered what he’d done
for Chet who had negotiated such a hard-driving bargain with her in the first
place.

“He gave Stapleton a raise. Effective immediately.”

“Wonderful.”
He deserves it and more. So much more.

“Twenty percent.”

“Amazing! Sam Trunbridge doesn’t like to part with his money
unless it’s for a good cause.”

“Well, he found his man, didn’t he?”

So did I.
Tears clogged her throat. She couldn’t
reply.

“So then,” he shifted his tone to all business, “want to
tell me when you plan on coming back?”

“When I’m done here, Jeff, I’ll come see you.”
When I’m
done figuring out what to do with the rest of my life. If I can find the
courage.

* * * * *

Shana bought a ticket at the gate that afternoon just like
any other fair-goer. To have called anyone, Chet or Sam or Reata, and let them know
she was coming was not what she wanted to experience here.

She needed the full feel of what she’d created. She’d told
herself these last few weeks as she worked on the opening from her aunt’s ranch
house south of here, that if she could be proud of what she’d done for the
rodeo, she would feel stronger about revealing the truth to Chet.

But the truth had come to her a few days ago. No matter the
cost, she had to reveal everything to him and go on with her life. If he hated
her, she would, as she had planned from the start of this project, leave him
with the potential for a great future. If he accepted her apology for not
telling him who she was and why she had wanted to work on the rodeo
development, all the better. She told herself not to hope that his reaction
might be more—she had left him too quickly without any explanation—but she
would walk away from here with memories of passion and romance thrilling enough
to last a lifetime.

So she got out of her car, ran her palms down her white
shirt and jeans, then began to stroll the rodeo grounds.

And oh god, was the feeling delicious.

From the new coat of whitewash on the barns and the new
signs at the gates to the spiffily dressed ticket-takers and the look of the
newly sanded main ring, the Hayward Rodeo looked first class.

Strolling around, grinning like an imbecile, she bought
caramel popcorn and ate every kernel. She wolfed down beef barbeque with so
many jalapenos, she was certain her hair curled. She went out to the stalls and
strolled along the bullpens and the bronco pens.
Oh, Chet, you must be proud
of this.

She walked along the newly paved, trailer-access lot and
watched penning teams saddling up their horses for the competition. She laughed
at the greased pig races, and tried the jerky from five different vendors
before she held up her hand and said, “Thanks, no more!”

She walked toward the office and the parking lot where Chet’s
and Sam’s trucks sat. She didn’t want to see Chet until she was ready. So she
sat across from the office trailer in the shade of a live oak on a picnic
bench, her sunglasses on, to plan her words.

That’s when the office door opened and Sam came out, arm in
arm with none other than Kylee Farrell. They grinned at each other like fools
as they strode to his truck. Then, as he opened the door for her, she reached
up on tiptoes and planted a huge smacker on his mouth. In flashpoint, Sam had
her pinned against the cab and the path his mouth took down the neckline of the
lady’s western shirt was nigh unto scintillating.
So much for staying away
from temptation, Sam Trunbridge.
They broke away suddenly, laughed and
looked around.

Spying Shana, Sam waved at her. “I’m coming back in about an
hour. Glad you’re here. I need to talk to you.”

She nodded. “I see the one you decided to talk to was Kylee.”

“I have. We did. Thanks to you.”

She smiled, shrugged and waved him off. “I’ll be here. Get
going!” She suspected where they were headed would keep them occupied for more
than an hour too.

Then from the other direction, Shana saw Reata approach her.

“Hey, sweetie.” Reata gave her a hug and sat next to her. “I’ve
been watching you roam around the grounds for quite a while. What do you think?”

“I’m tickled!”

“You should be.” Reata took a long look at Shana, her
dark-brown eyes probing. “Aren’t you going to see Chet?”

Shana gathered up every ounce of courage she had found in
the past months. “It’s why I’m here. Do you know where I can find him?”

Reata smiled. “Thank god. That man is no good without you.”

“Might not be good with me either. Not after what I did to
him. Not after what I need to tell him.”

“Well, whatever it is, you need to have a talk with him. If
he can’t understand, he can’t find a way to ever smile again, now can he?”

“No. Me either. Where do I go?”

Reata pointed up into the stands, now teaming with fans
settling in to watch the next performance.

“Oh hell, Reata. I’ll never find him up there.” But she had
to try.

Among the thousands of people, most men would be hard to
find. Chet Stapleton was hard to miss.

Backed up against the wall of the tallest stadium seats, he
stood, his legs spread, his arms crossed. In his standard starched, white
western shirt and jeans with a silver belt buckle as big as her two fists, he
was a scrumptious sight for her sore eyes. He watched the formations of the
latest act in the arena, a drum and bugle corps from the local high school. His
handsome face was split in the biggest grin she’d ever seen him sport.

But when she walked up to him and said hello, his features
fell apart.

He inhaled, recovering himself enough to take in her
ponytail, shirt and jeans. “Been around to see your work?”

She stood taller, scraping up all her gumption. He was still
so angry. How could she ever explain? How could she survive making him angrier?
“I have. It looks wonderful.”

He nodded, his luscious green gaze so enchanting. “You need
to be proud of yourself.”

“I am.” She took the words and used them to her advantage. “I’d
like to be prouder.”

He stared at her. Whether he understood what she meant or not,
she couldn’t take time to learn. The noise from the crowd was rising to higher,
ear-splitting decibels and she couldn’t speak to him here. “I’d like to talk to
you. Privately.”

“Now?”

“Please. It won’t take me long, and what I want to tell you
is long overdue. Can we go to your office?”

He thought that one over for long seconds. “Hurry up. I want
to be back for the next event.”

Shana expected him to take her arm and help her descend the
steps, like the gentleman he always was, but he didn’t touch her.

As they walked across the yard toward the office, she
regretted that she’d ever tried to come here and talk to him. What was she
going to gain? Whatever it was, a freer conscience, a clear slate, it was her
gain, wasn’t it? Not his. How selfish of her.

He took out his keys and opened the main office door. Then
he swung it wide to let her precede him. She strode inside to the room where
she’d first met him and first seen that he was better—so much better—than she
had imagined any man could be. Her temporary desk, all the rickety chairs, the
overflowing file cabinets were gone. The only item that remained was Chet’s
desk, clean as a whistle, not paper or paperclip to be found.

She spun toward him. “What’s happening here? Where is
everything?”

Chet had taken up the same hard stance he’d assumed up on
the stairs. Corded legs braced wide, massive arms folded across his chest. His
position was formidable and so was his tone. “Gone. Sam’s building us a new
office over on the other side of the pens.”

“That’s terrific.” She clasped her hands together. “Oh, just
what you need.”

His expression told her no, that was not what he needed. “What
do you want, Shana?”

“I came to tell you everything.”

“Why?” The word was dark with pain.

She had to keep going. “Because I should have long ago.
Because I owe it to you.”

“You owe me nothing.” He extended an arm to define the room,
the pens, the main rodeo. “You did all this. I owe you my thanks.”

“I hear Sam gave you a raise.” She stepped toward him.

“And a bonus. I’m buying my house.”

“Oh, darling, that’s wonderful.” She realized when he winced
that she’d said too much and not yet enough. She bit her lip, ran a hand back
through her hair. “Look, I need to tell you how I hurt you.”

“Damn, Shana, you don’t need to tell me. I feel it every
hour of every day.”

“No!” She stomped her foot. “Before a few weeks ago, I hurt
you. I was the one—” she grabbed a breath. “I was the one who wrote that story
about you in the Dallas paper!”

His eyes widened, and the green went from dark to light.

“I am S.J. Carpenter, and I wrote the piece that the TV
reporters and the national association used to run you out of competition.”

He hadn’t moved, and she wasn’t sure he’d heard her so she
walked forward, pointing to her chest.

“Don’t you see,
I
ruined you. And it was because all
that afternoon I saw you yelling at the judges, arguing with your competitors
and acting like a wild man!”

“I was drunk.”

He said it so softly she had to pause. “What?”

“I was drunk. Had been for two days. Didn’t know enough not
to compete.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “But…but that doesn’t
matter. I still wrote that. I couldn’t believe how the media used it and made
it into this huge story. God! On all the channels! They said you were a
hothead. Then someone else came along and talked about the way bronco busting
was so dangerous. Caused so much brain damage. And I felt like a fool. An
idiot. I hadn’t known about your head injury and I should have done my
research. I had ruined you and all the while you were disabled!”

“I should have quit long before you wrote that piece.”

“Maybe so,” she said but she was on a roll and went back to
her revelations. “But I didn’t know, and I should have fact-checked you before
I gave the story to my editor. I was a terrible journalist. Not dedicated to
writing the facts but bent on writing what I thought was true.”