Texas Rose Forever (Texas Rose Ranch #1) (17 page)

“Edith was devious. I love that about her.” She closed the journal. “The more I read about her, the more I wish that I could have met her. She was definitely a woman before her time. I wonder what she would have been if she’d been born a little later. Not that being a housewife isn’t a noble profession, it’s just I don’t think it would have been her choice. Even though it wasn’t that long ago, it’s hard to imagine a world where women can’t do whatever we want.”

“I’ve always thought that she would have been an excellent architect. She designed the house and oversaw the building of it. I’m pretty sure that she got exactly what she wanted and wouldn’t take anything less. I’ve always wanted to meet her too.” As a boy, he’d always hoped that he’d inherited a little bit of Edith’s spirit. It wasn’t until he was older that he realized that was genetically impossible.

“It had to be hard, don’t you think? I’m sure their unconventional relationship wasn’t well received everywhere. I know that your family has clout, but it couldn’t have been easy. And according to these”—she held up the journal—“Edith entertained clients, held dinner parties, and was president of the garden club. Essentially, she was the wife of a cattle baron. I think that it would have been both impressive to see and heartbreaking to watch. She talks extensively about the local Lutheran minister’s wife. Edith does not have good things to say about her.”

“Yes, dear sweet Myrna Crabtree.” He glanced over at CanDee. “How far have you gotten? I don’t want to spoil the suspense in case you don’t know what happened to Pastor Crabtree and his lovely wife.”

“I haven’t made it there, but I can’t wait. Tell me what happened. Did they find Myrna’s body at the bottom of a well or did she simply disappear without a trace?” Excitement glowed all over her face. She was really into this and clearly loved history as much as he did.

“Perhaps you noticed the old white abandoned church building on the road as you turned in to the ranch?” He loved stories where people got what was coming to them.

“Yes, I did.”

“That was Redeemer Lutheran. It’s funny how funding suddenly dried up after Myrna called Edith the spawn of Satan and told her that she was going straight to hell. The next morning Pastor Crabtree was out of a job and the ladies’ garden club had a building exclusively for their use.” He shook his head. “You don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

“What happened to the Crabtrees?” CanDee chewed on her bottom lip in anticipation.

“The pastor died of syphilis and Myrna faded off into the sunset. Some said that she was forced into prostitution and others say she became a housemaid for a family in Ohio.” He grinned.

“You made that up.”

He put one hand over his heart. “Swear.”

“I’m totally going to research it.” CanDee turned serious. “I hate that she made Edith sad, but I hope that Myrna didn’t have to turn to prostitution just to get by.”

“I love that you see the people behind the history.”

“Most of the time, history only records the major events. I like the everyday. Seeing people act the same way a hundred years ago as they do now is interesting. It seems that no matter when, we are all just trying to provide for our families and live our lives.” She held up Edith’s journal again. “Even when she writes about the tedious details of her life, I’m fascinated.”

He was fascinated too.

CanDee had become important to him and he was going to miss the hell out of her when she was gone. He bit his top lip. There was only one thing to do . . . make sure she never wanted to leave.

CHAPTER 17

Cranky Frank’s was exactly what CanDee was expecting. The red cinderblock building on the outskirts of Fredericksburg looked like a Texas barbeque joint.

“Are you sure they’re open?” CanDee glanced at Cinco as he pulled into the empty parking lot. It was completely empty and the lights were off. He didn’t seem like a man who would make a date and not make sure that the restaurant was open.

“No. They close at three or whenever they run out of food, whichever comes first.” He parked and turned off the engine.

“Are you planning on breaking in?” She loved barbeque as much as the next girl, but going to jail for it seemed a little extreme.

He walked around, opened her door, and helped her out.

“I don’t need to break in.” He walked to a potted geranium by the front door, gently nudged it to the side with his boot, and picked up something. “I have a key. The owner buys their meat directly from us for a very good price. He was more than happy to do me a favor.”

He unlocked the door, reached around the doorjamb, and flicked on the lights. Cinco moved aside and let her go in first.

Inside, neon beer signs were sprinkled between pictures of famous people who’d eaten there, and enough NFL memorabilia hung on the walls to make sure the public at large understood that this was a meat-made man cave where women were welcome, but only if they could eat their weight in brisket. There was an order window in the
back left corner, and the right held a counter with a drink machine and
a small buffet table that was completely empty.

Tables with mismatched chairs and a couple of full-length wooden pic
nic tables were close enough together to provide adequate seating without
feeling cluttered. The picnic table in the back was set with a plastic table
cloth, some silverware, and napkins that were tucked into two plastic cups.
A Shiner beer bottle had an unlit candle sticking out of the top. Romance
barbeque style. It was perfect. This place was perfect. Exactly the place she
would have chosen for a first date. Nothing pretentious or complicated.

“I believe that our table is ready.” She pointed to the picnic table.

“I think you’re right.” Cinco put his hand at the small of her back and led her to the picnic table. He pulled out the bench for her.

She smoothed her skirt down and sat.

“I’ll get the food. Frank told me where everything is.” He pocketed the key and went to the little window ordering area. Several pots banged around and the sound of lids being opened and closed followed.

“Need some help?” She picked up the plastic cigarette lighter next to the candle and lit it.

“No, I have things under control.” More pots banged. “Aha, here we go.”

He backed out of the small kitchen area carrying a huge aluminum-foil-covered pan.

“Holy cow. You did tell Cranky Frank that there were only two of us, right?” The pan was one of those giant metal serving dish things commonly used for cooking large turkeys.

“I told him that I didn’t know what you liked, so I guess he gave us some of everything.” He set the pan down on the table and unwrapped the foil.

“Wow, that’s some serious meat.” Brisket, beef ribs, short ribs, sausage, and chicken were piled high. She reached for the white Styrofoam containers and pulled them out one at a time. “Looks like we have coleslaw, potato salad, green beans, and”—she opened the last container and sniffed—“chocolate pudding. Nice.”

She glanced over at a small plaque across from their table. “This is one of the best barbeque places in the world?”

“Yes, as judged by
Texas Monthly
.” Cinco slid onto the bench opposite hers.

“I can’t wait to dig in. Where should we start?” Her fork was poised over the meat. “What’s your favorite?”

He eyed the meat. “Everything is good, but I have to say that the brisket is the best.”

She stabbed a couple of pieces of brisket and flopped them on his plate and then popped some onto her plate. “It smells really good.” She picked up the coleslaw. “Want some?”

His brow dented. “Thanks, but I should be serving you.”

“Why?” She opened the slaw, spooned some out onto his plate.

“Because I’m trying to impress you.” He grinned. “Is it working?”

“I don’t know. Let me try the food and I’ll tell you.” She liked that he was a little bit nervous and seemed to be trying really hard. It made her feel wanted and important. She couldn’t remember a time—especially after she’d started sleeping with her previous boyfriends—that she’d been made to feel special by a man.

She cut a sliver of brisket and popped it in her mouth. It was moist without being greasy and the bark had just enough spice to complement the meat. She stood, leaned across the table, and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Fantastic. Consider me very impressed.”

His smile was bright and genuine. “Wait until you see what I have planned for dessert.”

“I hope it’s me.” She winked.

A deep blush started at his neck and worked its way up to his face. “Believe me, I’ve spent a good deal of time today thinking about that.”

“At least you’re not whispering. That’s progress.” She leaned over and kissed him again. “Your blush is so sweet. I love it.”

She sat back down, picked up her napkin, and set it in her lap. “So, tell me about dessert.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve never blushed this much . . . ever.”

He sounded embarrassed.

“It’s adorable.” She cut another piece of meat and popped it in her mouth. “Can I ask you something?”

He swallowed and then wiped his mouth. “Anything.”

“I’m not sure how to put this nicely but . . . what’s wrong with you?” She shook her head. “I mean, why are you single? You’re wonderful. I can’t find anything wrong with you.”

His face lit up which was even sweeter than the blush. “I was kind of wondering the same thing about you.”

It was stupid that he could make her smile this much, but here she was, smiling from ear to ear. “I’m single because my grandmother says that my picker is broken.”

Plus, CanDee couldn’t afford to support anyone else because she was barely supporting herself. When she looked back on her relationships, they all involved her money being spent on other people.

“What about you?” There had to be a reason he was single. The good ones were always married.

“No one’s caught my eye until now. My mom says that I don’t get out much.” He scooped a spoonful of coleslaw into his mouth but kept his gaze on her. After he swallowed, he slid his hand over to cover hers. “Tell me about Phillip.”

Her smile froze on her lips. She didn’t want to talk about Phillip or any other of her failures. She picked up one of the white Styrofoam containers in front of her. “Potato salad?”

“You don’t like to talk about your past. I get that, but I’d like to know
more about Phillip.” His hand was on hers, reassuring her that it was okay.

“I don’t understand.” Why couldn’t they just keep things casual?

“I want to know everything about you. He’s a part of your past and I want to be a part of your future.” Clearly, he wasn’t going to drop this.

“Why do we need to talk about this now?” Here they were, having a lovely dinner, and he dropped the past-relationship bomb. It was like he was rubbing her face in her mistakes. “Can’t we just enjoy each other’s company and not worry about things that don’t matter?”

He sighed heavily. “One day, you’re going to trust me enough to tell me what he did that hurt you so much.”

“It’s not that he hurt me . . . well, he did, but I just don’t think it’s relevant to our”—she didn’t want to say
relationship
—“situation.”

“See, this is what grown-up people do. After small talk, they tell each other about themselves. That’s how they get to know one another.” He hacked off a piece of brisket and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Are you sure—I mean, you don’t get out much, so how would you know?” She forced her facial muscles into a grin. She wasn’t purposefully being evasive; she’d just like a bit more time before Cinco realized that she was nothing more than a doormat. Right now he saw her as strong, and she hated that one day that would change.

“Yes, I’ve read many articles on the Internet.” He hid his frustration behind his grin. He picked up his napkin, wiped his face, refolded it like he needed a moment, and then placed it back in his lap. Every move was deliberate and controlled. So he went quiet when he was frustrated. Good to know.

“Okay, but I don’t recall making small talk. We’ll need to discuss the weather, how black is the new black, and the rift between Caitlin and Kris over his becoming a woman.” She pointed at Cinco with her fork. “And we haven’t even started talking about sex. Trust me, I can talk about that for hours.”

Maybe distracting him would change the subject.

His frustrated smiled turned into a full-fledged frown. “Is it just me you have trouble confiding in or is it everyone?”

She told herself that she had no idea what he was talking about. After all, she was an extrovert, so over-sharing went with the territory, but just because she tended toward being a chatterbox didn’t mean that the information she was spouting was of a personal nature.

She ground out a breath and wiped her mouth. “Fine. Phillip, in addition to being the asshole who left me homeless, also screwed around on me while I worked my ass off keeping him in designer clothes and expensive mocha lattes. He, of course, couldn’t be bothered with anything as mundane as work while he was writing the great American novel or any of the other careers I paid for. The loss of my things—well, except for the few items that had belonged to my parents—was nothing compared to the humiliation of betrayal and the loss of dignity that went along with it. I don’t like to talk about it because I hate being reminded that I’m a gullible idiot who should have known better. The boyfriend before Phillip cheated on me, as did the one before him. My grandmother is right. I only pick the wrong men.”

Revealing her past made her feel like she’d ripped the bandage off an open wound and then taken a knife and stabbed herself a couple hundred more times. He’d wanted honesty and he’d gotten it. Now she just wanted to go home, lie in bed, and stare up at the ceiling until her mind went numb and she could put the heartache away so she didn’t have to feel it anymore. Life was messy and she needed some alone time to block out the mess.

Every time Phillip had looked at other women in restaurants while having dinner with her had hacked away at her self-esteem until she’d told herself that there must be something wrong with her because she wasn’t enough to keep his attention. Every time Phillip had turned an argument around on her and had her apologizing for suspecting him of cheating cut away at what little pride she’d had in herself until she’d stopped bringing it up. In the beginning of their relationship, she’d been excited to see him, but at the end, anxiety filled her every time she’d walked through the front door. Love worked for everyone but her. She so desperately wanted the happily-ever-after that everyone else had, but she wasn’t sure how to go about getting it.

“I know how it feels to have the person you think that you love sleep around.” His voice was rusty, like he hadn’t meant to say it. “Naomi slept her way through most of the ranch hands and propositioned every one of my brothers, who all declined and came straight to me. I know the humiliation and heartache and hatred of watching yourself do and say things that turn you into someone you don’t like.”

CanDee watched him. His eyes held the hurt that she’d seen in the mirror too many times. He got it . . . he really understood. She took a breath. “Slowly, I turned into a version of myself that I didn’t recognize. I was going through his phone while he was in the shower and checking his wallet for receipts that would confirm my suspicions. Every time I’d find another piece of damning evidence, I’d mean to confront him about it, but would talk myself out of it . . .”

“Because you didn’t want to know. Deep down you knew, but as long as it was just a suspicion, it wasn’t real.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “The night I came home a day early from a business trip and found her in bed with my best friend, I nearly lost it.”

There was shame on his face.

“What happened?” She knew the shame and would have spared him the telling, but he was right, they needed nothing between them.

“Trent Slattery had been my closest friend since childhood. And when I found her on top of him, I pulled her off.” He looked down at his hands. “That it’s in me to hurt a woman makes me sick.”

Slattery—why did that name sound familiar?

“Did you hurt her?” She just didn’t see violence in him. He might be the strong, silent type, but there was a quiet gentleness about him.

“No, but I was rough.” His face held nothing but shame and regret.

She took both of his hands and kissed the palms of each. “You were angry and upset, and your restraint is admirable. I’d have belted the bitch. I was saved the indignity of finding Phillip with another woman, but I would’ve still belted him and the bitch.”