The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (15 page)

And
yet
, his inner voice piped up,
do
just-friends sleep all tangled up like a bunch of baby granddaddy long-legged spiders?

“When they've been through what we have, they do.” He inhaled deeply one more time to take the scent of her shampoo with him into his dreams.

Jill and Sawyer walked hand in hand toward the setting sun. The sand was warm on their bare feet. Sea oats waved in the gentle night breezes on one side, and the ocean's waves gently slapped the sandbar on the other. Sandpipers darted back and forth with the surf, searching for supper, and gulls circled lazily above them. Everything was in its place, doing what it was supposed to do at the end of the day, and Jill's heart was at peace.

She didn't want to wake up, so she refused to open her eyes. It didn't work. The beach was gone, and the only sounds she could pick up were Sawyer's soft snores and the crackle of the stove wood as it burned. He was sleeping on his back with one hand up under his neck and the other arm around her shoulders.

Easing out of his embrace slowly so he wouldn't wake, she propped up on an elbow and studied him without fear of getting caught: dark hair, those thick lashes spread out on his cheekbones, that full mouth that could kiss so damn well, and a broad, muscular chest. But there was more to Sawyer than his quick wit and his outer good looks; he was a hardworking, protective cowboy and had a kind heart.

His eyes fluttered open, and he smiled. “I thought I felt someone or something looking at me. I'm glad it wasn't a man in a ski mask.”

“Think Tilly made it home okay?” she asked.

“I'm sure he and Bessie were home a while ago. It's dusk out there,” he said.

“Are you my friend?” she asked, bluntly.

“I hope I'm not sleeping with the enemy.” He smiled. “What is this all about, Jill?”

“I was involved with a man for two years,” she said.

“And it ended badly and you need to talk about it? Why now?”

She sat up and crossed her legs. Indian style, her grandmother called it. “I don't know. It seems like I should, so that the things that are supposed to end will and the sun will finally go down on it all, and…”

Sawyer pulled himself up to a sitting position, adjusted the blanket over their feet, and laid his hand over hers. “Okay, let's talk. You go first, and then I'll tell you about my heartbreak.”

She paused. “This is a bad idea.”

“How long since you broke up?” he asked.

“More than a year ago.”

“Have you talked it out of your system with a girlfriend, your mama, or your aunt Gladys?” he asked. “Don't look at me like that. I have a sister, and I know how females need to talk everything to death.”

She giggled like a little girl. “That's why we talk about it so long. We want it to be dead and done with when we finish talking.”

“Then talk, and let's get it in the grave. I'm a damn fine listener,” he said.

“In the beginning, I thought he was perfect. He was thoughtful and kind, and his daddy had a ranch, so we had lots in common. We'd been dating about three months when he wanted us to move in together, but I didn't want to commit to that. Looking back, I must've realized something wasn't right with the relationship even then.”

She kept talking, and Sawyer listened. He didn't nod at the right times and pat her hand, but his eyes said that he was really paying attention. If he'd picked up a little notepad and started to write, she would have sworn he'd been a therapist in another life.

“Evidently, he figured if I was close enough, he could wear me down to do what he wanted. That was probably why his father offered me a job on his ranch. I'd been living with my grandparents and helping out on the ranch, but then they died and we found out that the bank owned the ranch, or at least ninety percent of it. Grandpa had been putting extra mortgages on it for years to keep it running, and it had to be sold at auction to pay the bank. I was out of a job.”

“I'm sorry,” Sawyer said.

“I had a little tiny trailer out behind the bunkhouse, and my jobs varied from exercising horses to helping haul hay or anything else that needed done. We had this big fight six months ago about him being so spoiled and about an old girlfriend who showed up on the scene, and the whole relationship came unglued. She was in his league, which I definitely was not. She worked in her daddy's oil company but never got out into the real business of drilling.”

“He cheated on you?” Sawyer asked.

“I don't know if he did or didn't, but he started dating her a week after I left and went to another job on a ranch a hundred miles away. When that ranch sold a few weeks ago I called Aunt Gladys.”

Sawyer squeezed her hand. “You aren't stupid, Jill. You saw it coming and got your heart ready for it.”

“I hope that's what it is, and I'm not hard-hearted, hardheaded, and coldhearted to boot,” she said.

“Did he ever mention marriage?” Sawyer asked.

She shook her head. “No, and I'm glad he didn't. I might have said yes.”

“Regrets?”

“Not a single one. If what we had didn't work, then marriage would have been a big mistake. But I haven't had the nerve to get involved with anyone since him. There are no regrets, not even when I'm right in the middle of this damn feud. Which reminds me, I will get even with them.”

“I've got three pistols. I can shoot with two at once if you can handle one and that sawed-off shotgun you seem to be partial to,” he said.

Like always, his wit put her in a good mood and made her laugh.

“I'll do some practicing, and I bet we could take out a bunch of those varmints before Sheriff Orville arrived with his doughnuts,” she said.

“Which reminds me.” He covered a yawn with his hand. “I'm hungry.”

“After two sandwiches?”

“That was a long time ago. Taking a nap is hard work. I'll make spaghetti for supper if you'll put a pan of brownies in the oven for dessert.”

She cut her eyes up to catch his gaze. “And while we make supper, you will tell me your story, right? Or have you talked it to death with your cousin Finn or your mama?”

“Oh, honey, I pouted and whined worse than a little girl when it happened, nearly two years ago, and it's a wonder either one of my cousins who was with me at the time will even talk to me.” He pushed the covers back, pulled on a clean pair of socks, and stomped his feet down into boots.

She felt better immediately. Any tough old cowboy who'd been hurt bad enough to cry wouldn't be ready for a relationship any more than she was.

* * *

Sawyer set an iron skillet on the stove and turned on the flame under it. While that heated, he filled a pot with water, added salt and a splash of cooking oil, and set it on another burner to boil. Hamburger sizzled when he tossed a pound into the skillet. Jill whipped up flour and sugar and cocoa together in a big bowl while he pulled out another pan for his special sauce. None of that canned shit for Sawyer; no, sir, he made his own marinara sauce, starting with real tomatoes.

“Okay, role reversal. I'm the therapist. You get to talk now,” she said.

“To death?” he asked.

She nodded. “All the way to the grave.”

“She and I'd gone to school together since kindergarten. We went to both our junior and senior proms together and dated all the way through college. We got engaged, but she didn't want to rush into marriage. She wanted the big, perfect wedding with all the bells and whistles, and her parents couldn't pay for something that elaborate, so we saved our money. We even had a joint checking account, and when it hit a certain number, we were going to start planning the wedding. We were almost there when an opportunity to go on a cattle drive came up. She told me to take the month and go on. She would be busy checking out venues for the wedding,” he said.

“Venues?”

“You know. Places that specialize in that shit. Hell, I didn't care if we got married in the middle of a pasture, but I wanted her to be happy.”

“You don't strike me as a man who'd want all that,” Jill said.

He grinned. “See there, we've known each other only a couple of weeks, and you can already tell that about me.”

“You were gone a whole month?”

He nodded.

“It happened at the end of the drive. We didn't have phones, so she couldn't call me until the end. When I called her, I got the news. She'd met a man at a party from Pennsyl-damned-vania, decided that she was in love with him, and eloped with the fool.”

“After making you wait for years for the big foo-rah with all the bells and whistles? Damn, Sawyer. I'd have killed them both and sworn to St. Peter that they committed suicide.”

He laughed as he shoved spaghetti into boiling water. “I considered it. Yes, ma'am, I damn sure did. But I wasn't about to let her know that she'd broken my heart, so I went home and pretended to be happy, and I never talked about it again until today. Well, I did mention that she'd come home to Comfort, Texas, divorced and lookin' my way, to Finn when I showed up on his doorstep at Christmas.”

“What about the savings account for the big wedding?” she asked.

“It went with her when she eloped.”

“Did she apologize for taking it?”

“Hell, no! She said that it was for her wedding, and therefore, it was her money. And, honey, I did not tell anyone that part of the story. Not even my mama or Finn knows that I was that big of a fool,” he answered.

“It was her loss, Sawyer. I bet there are days when she wishes she'd made a different choice.”

He shook his head. “Maybe. If she does, that's her problem. Trust is what you build any kind of relationship on.”

“And you don't do second chances?” Jill asked.

He added the browned meat to the marinara sauce. “Darlin', there ain't enough duct tape in the world to fix a stupid cowboy who'd get mixed up with that again. Besides, I've moved on.”

A blast of cold air preceded Gladys into the bunkhouse. When she reached the kitchen, her hands were on her hips and her lips were pursed so thin that they almost disappeared into the wrinkles.

“I've tried to call both of you since early this morning. Don't you have enough sense to pick up your phones?” she fussed.

“Something wrong?” Sawyer asked.

“You hungry? We're having spaghetti, and brownies for dessert,” Jill said.

“Yes, I'm hungry, and, no, nothing is wrong on the ranch, but I did go to church this morning, after all. It was too damn cold to go anywhere else, and I've been trying to call both your phones all day.”

“I'll put another plate on the table,” Jill said, “and we'll explain while we have supper together.”

“It's a long story,” Sawyer said.

Gladys tossed her coat on the sofa and sat down at the table. “And you'll make a plate for me to take to Polly?”

“There's plenty,” Sawyer said.

Gladys pointed at Jill. “You go first. I was scared y'all had both left Fiddle Creek, and I don't want either of you to leave. I like this arrangement.”

Sawyer slid half a loaf of Italian bread into the oven. He'd carefully cut it into thick slices and applied garlic butter. All it needed was a little heat and they'd be ready for dinner. “Sweet tea?”

“Yes,” Gladys said.

Jill busied herself putting ice into glasses and filling them. “I could tell the Gallaghers and Brennans were up to no good when they got to the bar last night. It wasn't what they said, but the way they kept looking at each other's tables.”

Gladys slapped the table with the palm of her hand. Cutlery rattled against plates and tea sloshed against the sides of the tall glasses. “I knew this would have something to do with that pig war. I knew it.”

“We can't prove a bit of it.” Sawyer set the sauce and the spaghetti on the table. “Bread will be out in a minute.”

“Bit of what?” Gladys asked.

“Well, it went like this…” Jill went on to tell the story.

“So I've slept with your niece in a horse stall and in the back of a wagon, Gladys. You going to get out the shotgun?” Sawyer brought out the bread.

“Hell, no! If I had a medal, I'd give it to you for protecting her,” Gladys said. “And the way both families were acting this mornin' in church, I'd say that you've got it right about what happened. But you're also right about not being able to prove it. What did you think of Tilman?”

“You mean Tilly?” Jill asked.

“That's what they call him now, since he's a crazy old moonshiner who lives on the edge of Salt Holler, but that's not what we called him when we were in school with him.” Gladys expertly wound spaghetti around a fork. “Damn fine food, Sawyer.”

“Thank you, ma'am. Why didn't you call him Tilly?”

“Because he was the smartest kid in school, and in those days, Tilly was a girl's name. It was short for Matilda, and not only was he smart, he was a cocky little fighter who'd black a kid's eye if he got mad at him. He went on to make a lawyer out of himself, and then he ran for the House of Representatives and won twice. In the middle of the second term, he flat-out walked away from his job, bought that land near Salt Holler, and started making moonshine. Nobody really knows what happened. Some folks say it was over the Korean War. Some say it was over a woman. Wallace buys liquor and wine from him, and Tilly, he don't bother nobody,” Gladys said.

“He seemed like a nice old guy to me,” Jill said.

“The only other person who's ever been on his land is Wallace Redding, and that is to buy shine. No one would ever believe that Tilly befriended you. He don't do that. He comes to the store twice a year for supplies and goes right back home. He talks to me when he's there. I hear he picks up his mail at the post office. They hold it for him for six months at a time, and it's mainly magazines and newspapers. Takes a whole garbage bag for him to haul it out of there.”

“Jill could sweet-talk a bear into giving up his honey.” Sawyer laughed.

“Oh, hush, I had hay in my hair and looked like the wrath of God had kissed me,” she said. “I've never been so glad to see a shower and get a nap in a real bed in my whole life as I was when we got back to the bunkhouse.”