Lone Tree (41 page)

She laughed and shook her head. “Give it to Stuart.
He’ll mail me a check.” Then, impulsively, she reached for the dollar bill. “On
second thought, I will take it. I’ll frame it and hang it on my wall—a gift
from the cockiest cowboy in West Texas. It’ll be my reminder of both you and
Lone Tree.”

Instantly she regretted her speech. With it, she’d
added a personal note to a business meeting, and by doing so had evoked
memories that were best left dormant.

His face sobered as he continued to stand, his gaze
on her, and he let the silence ride. Then he said, voice almost a whisper, “And
what am I going to have to remind me of you, Lainie Sue?” As he lowered himself
back into the chair, she saw no anger, hot or cold, and no distance. In that
brief exchange, they’d traveled back to where they’d been before the blowup.

Except that it wasn’t that easy. What they’d been to
each other before was something that could never be again. It was like a dam of
emotion had overflowed and carried away everything that was good between them.

“I tried as hard as I could, but I can’t get past
you,” he said, turning the words into a verbal caress in that way that he’d
always had. His gaze was like a gentle touch as well. “I just can’t do it.
You’ll always be part of me, because you’re in my blood more than the ranch is.
Yeah, I want this spread. But I want you more.”

A long moment passed in which his eyes held hers, as
if as captive. Then he stretched out his right arm, placed his hand on the
table between them, and offered her his open palm.

She’d hoped that with his anger and her reticence
they’d avoid this, but here it was, just as strong as ever. She looked at his
hand, remembered his touch, and it took all her will power not to reach out to
touch him just one last time. But by doing so, she’d be starting something, not
ending it.

Instead she clasped her hands in her lap, lowered
her gaze to them and said softly, “It’s not a package deal.”

“I had to give up last year when I couldn’t find
you,” he said, ignoring her words. “But seeing you on the ranch again these
past couple days, and sitting across from me right now, brings too much back to
mind.” He shook his head. “No, I won’t give you up.”

She felt curiously unable to speak or move, as if
she were suspended in a layer of time with no before and no after.

“Lainie?” He put so much of himself into her name
when he said it. She knew what was in his heart. His hand was still right
there. All she had to do was reach out and take it.

“No two ways about it, Lainie Sue.” His familiar
drawl told her that he’d read her again and knew just how close she was to
succumbing. “Since I’m not gonna give up, you’re just gonna have to give in.”

Oh, how she loved his voice, the teasing sureness of
it. How she loved the man.

But there was distance between them—a year, two
states, a world.

With a resolve that was as painful as it was
certain, she raised her head and met his gaze. “But you need to give up.”
Though her tone was quiet, it carried conviction. “We have to let it go. What
we had was good, damned good. We’d both know I was lying if I said otherwise. I
couldn’t talk to you last year because I loved you too much. You might’ve
pulled me back here—you were the only one who could do that—and I couldn’t take
that chance.”

“I know. That’s why it was such a heartbreaker when
I couldn’t find you.”

“I had to be free of this place. And Miles. Even
you, Reed.” She heard the pleading in her voice, prayed he’d understand. “I
don’t belong here. I never did. You do, but I don’t. I was sorry for so much,
but not sorry that I learned to love you. It’s over now, though. It really is,
and you need to accept that.”

Mutely, he shook his head.

But she did too, just as slowly, and with as much
certainty.

As he took in her conviction, his eyes dulled.

And then the dullness disappeared, as if it’d never
been there. He was once more formidable, intent, the Reed she’d known and
seldom bested. “If I thought it’d work, I’d take your keys again. If I’d known
what was in your mind that last night, you’d never have gotten them back.”

Suddenly she was back in that night, confronting him
on the lonely road leading to the highway. It seemed like a lifetime ago, yet
it seemed like yesterday. “I never knew for sure, but...it looked like I
might’ve bruised your cheek.”

“You did. You carry a wallop, Lainie Sue.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to hurt
you.”

“Physical hurt I can handle. Losing you, I can’t.”

Lainie felt her emotional balance slipping away. She
had to close this while she still had some control. So she placed her palms on
the table, then stood, hoping he’d follow suit. He remained seated, just looked
up at her, and her unease grew. He’d already caught on that her strength was
flagging. But she was determined to resist him. Whatever he said, whatever he
did, she’d stand firm because she had to.

Then, as if he’d also read that resolve in her, he
got to his feet, lowered his gaze to the chair and pushed it under the table.
“When are you leaving?”

His acceptance of her departure seemed too easy, but
she didn’t question it. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” His head snapped up.

“The stipulated three days are met. And we’re
through here.” She hadn’t meant the double meaning, and wondered if he’d caught
it. Needing to end the meeting in the businesslike tone in which it’d started,
she extended her hand. “Goodbye, Reed.”

He stared at her hand for a long time but didn’t
take it. When he’d offered his hand a moment ago, in an entirely different meaning,
she hadn’t taken it either. Then when his gaze rose to meet hers, she saw in
his eyes that he hadn’t given up and she resisted a strong urge to back away.
Sensing the war within him, she steeled herself.

“No,” he said quietly. But an undercurrent of
emotion got through that told her she’d read him correctly. He was saying no to
extreme means—physically pulling her to him and holding on—as much as he was
saying no to her. “I won’t say goodbye to you, Lainie.”

He strode away. His boot heels clicked down the
hall. She heard the front door open and close while she stared at the empty
doorway. In losing him, she was losing part of herself, and it took all her
will power not to run after him.

But the two and half years since she’d first arrived
in Texas had been too full of turmoil. She had to get out of here, away from
the influence of the ranch and its people, Miles and Reed both. Even in death
Miles seemed to be a living, breathing entity, still exerting influence. If he
hadn’t left her his estate along with that crazy stipulation, she wouldn’t be
here.

She turned and stared at the patio, but the sight of
it barely registered. It was late afternoon, a long and hard day already, and
she wasn’t through. It’d been tough saying goodbye to Jackie Lyn, tougher by
far saying it to Reed, and this last one wasn’t going to be easy either.

The sun bore down on her as she walked to the
stables in search of Nelly. She’d forgotten how heavy the heat could be. She
paused inside the entrance. Glory and Vindication were missing, and neither
Irish nor Oatmeal took notice of her. She was saddened, yet relieved, at
Glory’s absence. There was a limit to her strength.

When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she spied
Nelly sitting on a stool at the far end of the stables with his profile to her.
His still form seemed out of character, and her heart went out to him,
imagining the anguish he’d suffered at the loss of Miles. Her eyes burned; a
lump lodged in her throat.

She’d thought he was unaware of her, but then he
said, “I been waitin’ for you, little missy, three days already. Now you get on
in here. What you be standin’ there wonderin’ about?”

“How to say hello.” She walked to him, picked up an
empty pail, upended it and sat on it. “And how to say goodbye.”

His eyes were tired and pale, more gray than blue.
“Why you be sayin’ that? This your home.”

She said quietly, “My home is in California.”

“No, it’s not.”

She wasn’t going to debate the point, but neither
was she going to get up and go. She raised one foot, rested the ankle across
her knee and held it there. They sat in companionable silence.

“It’s a long time I be livin’ now,” he said, staring
into space. “And I wonder at people who say they want to live long. Means
losin’ people you love. Too many of ’em.”

Lainie looked at her sneaker-clad foot, thinking of
the void left behind when a loved one was gone. It was an empty soreness that
never got filled. And death wasn’t the only way loved ones were lost.

“First your grandmama, then your mama, now your
granddaddy.” Nelly sighed, weariness and pain in the sound. “It all start with
your grandmama, Miss Alice. Long time ago, she go ridin’ and then her horse
come back by itself. Mr. Miles went after her, found her dead, and he was never
the same again. He lost too much when he lost Miss Alice. And then he be too
hard on the first little missy, your mama.”

Twenty-five years, Lainie thought. Father and
daughter had lost each other before death took either one. So sad. So futile. A
tear escaped when she blinked.

Nelly went on. “Then your mama met this man. He was
no good but she wouldn’t see that, and Mr. Miles come down way too hard on her.
I hear hollerin’ and yellin’ and angry words just about every day, and I worry.
Then your mama gone one day, just gone, and it get way too quiet aroun’ here.
And I see Mr. Miles now lose his little girl, too. Not the same way he lost her
mama, but he hurtin’ all the same.”

Leaning over, Nelly put a wizened hand on Lainie’s.
He looked deep into her eyes. “Mr. Miles was a hard man, but your mama was hard,
too. The truth is they hurt each other, real bad, and could never stop doin’
it.”

Lainie clasped his hand in hers and squeezed. The
tears ran freely now. He raised his other hand to her face and gently wiped her
cheeks. His fingertips were rough and calloused, but she’d never felt a gentler
touch.

“Then you show up, the spittin’ image of Miss Alice,
and I see the change in your granddaddy. I figure he’s thinkin’ he’s got his
little girl back. But that makes me worry too, ’cause you not the same as the first
little missy. You be...”

He frowned, dropped his hands, seemed to search for
words. “You be afraid. Like some little bird all scared and hurt and ready to
fly away. You never settle down, not all the while you here. And Mr. Miles,
there just one way for him—his way. He never learned you have to let go in
order to hold on. Then I hear the fireworks that night and you be gone the next
day. I just shake my head and cry. Tryin’ to hold on to you, he chase you off,
just like he chase away your mama.”

His sigh was deep. He looked weary and sad and
lonely. “Too much hurtin’ here, little missy. Too many people lost. Startin’
way back with Miss Alice a long time ago.”

They sat silently for a long time.

At last she wiped her face with the wristband of her
shirt. Nelly was right. There was too much hurting, way too much hate and
anger, and she was part of it, just as guilty as anyone else. She wondered at
the capacity of this particular bloodline to make so many wrong moves.

Nelly looked drained. When he spoke again, his voice
was weak. “But Mr. Miles loved you, little missy, no matter what he done or how
he done it. And he got you back here again where you belong. He did it, little
missy, and now it’s up to you. You say your home is in California, but it’s here,
right here with Mr. Reed. Your granddaddy knew it. Mr. Reed know it, too. I
know it, and you know it. You still be like some little bird, wantin’ to fly
away so it don’t get hurt. But even birds got to make a nest and light
sometime, somewhere. This where you belong. You know it, little missy. Don’t
tell me you don’t.”

Lainie felt as drained and exhausted as Nelly
looked. She’d long since given up on composure and tears ran unheeded down her
face. For a moment, she felt a sense of Miles standing beside her. That
comforted her, yet also renewed her sense of loss. Closing her eyes against the
emptiness, she tried to hang on to the image and sense of Miles.

Nelly had said it was up to her. She could continue
the pattern or put an end to it. Suddenly scared, she leaned forward and put
her face in her hands. Nelly said nothing, did nothing. He could help her no
more than he already had.

She stood, kissed him lingeringly on the cheek and
then turned to go, drying her face on the sleeve of her shirt.

“Little missy?”

She turned back. “Yes, Nelly?”

“Your hair be prettier the other way.”

A laugh burst out of her. She guessed it must mix
incongruously with her tear-stained face. “Then that makes unanimous. Guess I’m
goin’ back to blond.”

In her cottage, she found a tamale pie casserole and
a green salad on the counter, and a note from Rosalie that told her it was
mild, not hot. Lainie had thought she had no tears left, but she blinked and
got another one. She wanted, yearned, to share this meal with Reed. He could
bring his own hot sauce.