Eleven (7 page)

“
Really, you shouldn’t have.
You know you’re spoiling me. Thank you so much,” I was gushing
again.

This was the first time any man had
ever treated me so extravagantly. I tried not to go overboard with
my gratitude, but I did appreciate each and every one of his
gestures. He seemed to really get a kick out of my shocked looks
each time he surprised me with something. Little did he know how
much I had struggled and how very much these new experiences meant
to someone like me. Just within the short time I had known him, he
had already made up for every crappy Valentine’s Day I had ever
suffered through.

He stood there looking like something
that walked off a movie set. He was wearing different boots, better
suited for riding as opposed the expensive Luccheses. His hat was
different, too. It was weathered and dusty around the crown. Its
brim seemed a bit wider, but the hat had the same crease as his
dressier Stetson.

As he zipped up his black Carhartt, he
gave me a once-over.

“
Better than I imagined. You
look good enough to eat,” his face flushed with the realization of
the words that had inadvertently escaped his lips.

I fired back, “Is that a compliment or
an offer?”

“
Don’t tempt me, Sister,
don’t tempt me,” he replied with a big wide grin and a
wink.

We walked out the side door of the
mudroom and I could see stables about a hundred yards away. One of
his ranch hands was leading two beautiful horses out of the barn.
They were already saddled and ready to go.

When he had said, “go for a ride”, I
thought he was talking about taking a drive around the ranch. Awww,
hell no—we were going on horseback!

“
You’ve ridden before,
haven’t you?” he asked.

“
Ummm, yeah, sure. It’s been
a couple of years though.”

I lied. I had been more like fifteen
years ago.

I tried to remember the saying to
reassure myself—what was that saying?

“
It’s just like riding a
horse—you never forget.”

No, wait, that’s a bike. What was it?
Oh, yeah.

“
If you fall off a horse,
just get right back up on it!”

Oh, crap!

“
Dear God, don’t let me fall
off this horse!” I silently thought to myself.

Sensing my anxiety, he encouraged me,
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. He’s a gentle ride. Let me help you
up. Just put your foot in the stirrup and I’ll give you a
boost.”

He didn’t waste any time placing his
hand on my backside to help me mount my horse.

“
Atta girl.” He said as he
casually swung his leg over the saddle of his own ride. “I wanted
you to see the ranch—and this is the best way to see
it.”

We spent about an hour riding and
exploring the landscape. It was lovely to see him in his element.
The weather was gorgeous. There was just a touch of chill to the
air. It was the time of year that you never knew if it would be
unseasonably warm or freezing cold. We had lucked out and got to
enjoy a beautiful ride on a beautiful day.

As we were heading back to the stables,
I spotted a long clearing in the brush. I looked over at him,
leaned forward, urged my ride with a “tttck, tttck” and spurred him
into a full, smooth run.

“
You’re just full of
surprises, aren’t you?” he said as he galloped up behind me at the
stables.

When we arrived back at the house,
lunch was ready and waiting for us.

I turned to him in fascination, “Okay,
you’re full of a few surprises yourself! Do you have a team of
elves and fairies at your command or what?”

“
You might put it that way.
Although, I don’t think my ranch foreman would be too happy about
being called an elf,” he laughed. “I have a whole crew who stay
here full time and keep things running smoothly while I’m away.
They live in the houses on the South side of the ranch in the
houses down by the creek.”

We were both hungry from the travel and
ride. After a quick lunch, he showed me to the master room. A
large, custom made bed fashioned out of thick cedar logs was the
main focus of the room. To its side, there was a sitting area in
front of another large flagstone fireplace which was double sided
and opened up into the master bath, as well. A roaring fire was
blazing inside. My overnight bag was placed on the cedar bench at
the foot of the bed.

He gently rubbed my back and suggested,
“Why don’t you go enjoy a soak in the tub. I’m going to go clean up
from the ride, myself. I’ll meet you on the front porch when you
get ready.”

He turned as he was about to exit the
room, pointed to the door handle and reminded me, “Here’s the lock
I told you about, Sister.”

He winked as he closed the door behind
him.

I grabbed my overnight bag, walked into
the master bathroom, and came to the realization that the fairies
had been at work again. The large soaking tub was already full of
warm water and bubbles. It was set into a frame built from the same
stone of the fireplaces and exterior of the house. On the tiled
ledge, there were bouquets of lavender and sage. I couldn’t
distinguish whether the lovely fragrance was coming from them or
the candles. A glass of wine had been set on one corner of the
bath.

The room was lit by the glowing candles
and soft light that was coming in from the long, thin rectangular
window at the top of the Southern-most wall. I shed my clothing and
slipped into the warm water. Ahhhhhh!

I picked up the wine glass by the stem
and took a sip. Indigo Hills Merlot! He had remembered—he had
thought of everything.

I’m not sure if I wanted to scream out
loud or pass out at that very moment from sheer joy. It had been a
very long time, if ever, that I had felt this way. I couldn’t stop
smiling!

Placing the wine glass back on the
ledge, I suppressed an oncoming squeal, and took a deep breath as
my entire body slipped into the water. I could feel my long hair
floating in the water around me. I was still smiling as I came up
for air. This man liked me—he really liked me. And he was making me
happier than I could have ever imagined.

After enjoying my luxurious soak, I
took my time getting dressed. So far, the day had been a wonderful
beginning to our weekend. I finished my hair and make-up and made
my way to the large pair of carved wooden doors at the front of the
house. I opened the right-side door and saw him sitting in one of
the porch chairs; rocking and looking off into the
distance.

He noticed my presence and invited me
to sit with him a while. We wandered down to the large cedar swing
at the end of the veranda.

It was so peaceful. Not a hint of the
rush and hurried sound of the city in the background; just miles
and miles of Texas. The gentle, cool breeze melted into the warmth
from the sun shining down on us.

“
So tell me,” he casually
inquired, “what’s a woman like you doing still single? Why hasn’t
someone come along and stuck their brand on you, yet?”

With a delicate balance of words to
escape the possibility of breaking the rule regarding talking about
past relationships, I touched on the peaks and valleys of my
experiences over the past few years. I tried my best not to linger
on anything negative. In spite of how lousy my circumstance had
been, I didn’t want to run him off with my sad, sad story. Besides,
I was well past the point of desperation. I had done a pretty good
job of pulling myself up by the bootstraps. He didn’t need to know
all of the horrific details.

I had survived many disappointments and
heartaches that had led me to that front porch in the heart of
Texas. But in my mind, I had to give him credit. In spite of my
independent nature, I suddenly realized something very important
about him. In so many ways, he had already come to my rescue. He
had given me hope of something I had ceased to believe in—finding
true love with a good man. Of course, I didn’t reveal that
particular peak to him.

He disclosed some of the details of his
recent heartbreak to me. It was one of the few times he didn’t make
eye contact with me; as he informed me that his divorce was not
quite legally final. Because of all the financial details, they had
been in arbitration. He told me about how unhappy he had been over
the past few years. He confided the only reason he had stayed in it
so long had been his boys. Obviously, they meant the world to
him—as they should.

He told me about how he had met his
soon to be ex-wife in college. Like many other relationships
founded in youth’s prime, it had gone south after the newness had
worn away. From the way he described her, apparently, she had been
rather materialistic. He said no matter how hard he had worked or
how much he had done, it had never been enough for her. He said he
simply grew tired of trying. He was exhausted from being in a
situation where there was no longer any appreciation—or
passion.

He looked me into the eyes when he
said, “You know, if someone really loves you, they make you feel
appreciated. They make you feel important. They make everything
worth it. They make you feel it in everything they do and it makes
you want to return it. It makes you better. I haven’t felt that way
in long time. But I’m starting to remember how it feels again. And
I like it.”

Once again, he elicited a big smile
from me. I understood his words. It was reassuring to know that
this wasn’t a one sided thing; he was feeling it, too.

He approached a rather touchy subject
when he asked, “So, why didn’t you ever have any kids?” He fumbled,
“I mean do you like kids? Do you ever want to have any
children?”

“
Well, that’s a loaded
question, Mister!” I tried to lighten the mood and continued, “Of
course. I’ve always wanted kids. I just never found myself in the
right situation. To make a long story short, I just never found a
sperm donor with a good man attached.”

He threw his head back in
laughter.

Changing the subject, he asked, “So
tell me, sugar britches, do you know how to dance?”

“
Ummm, yeah.
Why?”

I didn’t want to let him in on another
surprise I was keeping up my sleeve. Not only did I know how to
dance: like any self-respecting girl from Texas, I loved to dance.
In fact, back in the day, I had won a jitter-bug contest—or two—or
three. There wasn’t much else I would rather do than scoot a
boot.

“
Well,” he continued,
“they’re havin’ some live music at a place in town tonight. Since
there’s not much for us to do out here except get into a whole
bunch a trouble, I thought you might like to go into
town.”

He wasn’t suggesting we go back to the
city. He was referring to the town that was about forty-five
minutes away. It sounded like a good idea—and I welcomed any idea
that was conducive to helping me stick to the rules. I was going to
need all the help I could get!

“
Sure, that sounds like fun.
I can’t think of a thing I would rather do—of course, with the
exception of maybe getting into a whole bunch of trouble with you!”
I whipped back at him as we got up to grab our coats before heading
for town.

This time, it was I who gave him a
hearty swat on his backside—and all he could do was
grin.

Chapter 13

Sawdust and Silk

The local dancehall was a rustic
hole-in-the wall kind of place, but the band was unbelievably good.
They covered major artists’ songs that were perfect for dancing.
You could tell most of the couples dancing had been together for a
while by their familiarity with each other’s steps and turns as
they left sliding trails of sawdust on the wooden dance
floor.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” he
asked.

“Actually, I would like a mug of Coors
Light if they have it on tap. If not, I’ll take a bottle,” I
replied.

“That’s my girl,” he said with
wink.

He returned to the table carrying two
frosty mugs of cold beer.

The band started playing a
Trace Adkins song called ‘
There’s a Girl in
Texas’
.

He grabbed me by the hand and said,
“Let’s go shake a tail feather.”

We made our way out onto the dance
floor. He placed his right hand in the small of my back as I placed
my left hand on the back of his shoulder.

One, two—one. One, two—one. One,
two—one. Our steps and rhythm were in perfect sync. He was a great
lead and easy to follow.

We danced until we had both broken a
sweat—and until it was time for the band to take a break. We
returned to our barstools and finished off another cold
beer.

“
You ‘bout ready to blow
this joint?” he asked.

I agreed it was time to make our
departure. The beer was starting to hit me. I didn’t want to put
myself in the compromising position of having to refuse another
mug. Tonight was going to require every ounce of resolve I could
muster to find the strength to refuse him.

As I had become accustomed, he opened
my door then went around and jumped in his side of the cab. He
turned the ignition key and when the dashboard lights came on,
there it was again: the clock was flashing 11:11. The coincidence
did not go unnoticed by him.