True Colors (15 page)

“I’ll be your dark secret, huh?”

Vivi Ann nodded, moved toward him.

He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he pushed the pile of her grandmother’s quilt aside and laid her down. Wrenching his Levi’s open, he shoved the jeans down his bare legs and kicked them aside, then pulled off his shirt.

Scars covered his chest; one ended in a coil of puckered flesh at his rib. Moonlight softened the marks, made them look silvery and almost pretty, but she’d seen enough abused horses to know what she was seeing. “My God, Dallas . . . what—”

He kissed her until she couldn’t breathe anymore, couldn’t claim to own even the smallest portion of her body. He took it all from her, forced her to want him with a desperation that was so raw it hurt. When he pulled off her clothes and rolled her beneath him, she opened herself up shamelessly, crying out his name and clinging to him. Nothing mattered except his body and hers and how alive he made her feel.

Vivi Ann woke in the middle of the night, wanting him again. She rolled over to kiss his shoulder and discovered that she was alone in bed.

She pushed the pile of covers away and reached for the robe that lay in a heap on the floor.

She found Dallas on the porch, sitting on the top step, drinking a beer.

She sat down beside him. “Did I wake you up? Kick you in the head or something?”

“I don’t sleep.”

“Everyone sleeps.”

“Do they?”

It was a reminder not only that she didn’t know him, but that she was a small-town girl in a big world. She stared out over this ranch that suddenly looked unfamiliar. She knew she should get up, say thanks for the great sex, and go back to her life. But even as she imagined forming those hard, sharp words, she remembered the softness of his tongue on her body, the way he’d made her cry out in pleasure.

“I should go,” she said finally.

He just sat there, staring out over the fields. “Take off your robe, Vivi.”

She shivered at the way he said it. In some distant part of her (grown smaller in the space of this one night; the old Vivi Ann) she wanted to deny him. She had to get back to the house. Come dawn, she’d be missed. “We said just once,” she whispered, hearing how hollow she sounded, how unconvincing.

“You said it. I didn’t.”

He was on his feet in an instant, standing in front of her, untying her robe.

“This is crazy,” she said, feeling the terrycloth slide down her body.

“Crazy,” he murmured, kissing her throat, the swell of her breasts, the valley between.

“Just once more,” she said, closing her eyes.

The last thing she heard before he kissed her was laughter.

The next morning, when Vivi Ann woke in her own bed, feeling bruised by last night’s passion, she knew she’d been changed. All her life she’d pretended to be wild, while really she’d been safe and protected. Riding a horse at breakneck speed was nothing, easy; all she’d ever had to do was yank back on the reins and her mount would slow to a stop.

There were no reins to pull back on now, no way to slow down with Dallas. She might not know him well—at all, really—but she knew that there were only two speeds available to them. Stop or run.

And she had to stop.

She got out of bed and dressed for church. With her hair drawn back from her face and caught up in a white scrunchie, and in her ankle-length jean dress with a wide belt, she looked absolutely normal.

She went downstairs, left a plate of food in the fridge for Dallas, and then went to find her dad. Together they walked out of the house and up to the truck. “How was the rodeo last night?”

“Luke was worried about you. He said he was gonna call.”

“Really? I must not have heard the phone. Are you still going to Jeff’s house after church?” It was all she could think to ask. She wanted to change the subject.

“Yep.”

They drove to church in silence. Outside, in the parking lot, they met up with Luke and the rest of the family and went to their regular pew, where Vivi Ann felt hemmed in, trapped as she was between Luke and her father. All through the service (
God’s path for us is righteousness; sin is the bend in the road that will lead us astray if we are not ever vigilant against its dark temptations
), she felt exposed, guilty. She was sure that any minute Father MacKeady would point to her and shout out,
Sinner!

When the service was over, she bolted from their pew and rushed down to the relative peace of the church basement, where refreshments and coffee were being served. There, she moved among her friends and neighbors, trying to let their voices drown out the roaring noise of her own guilt. All the while, as she talked to friends and made silly jokes and sipped coffee, she was thinking:
Dallas
.

Just that, his name. Over and over again.

Every passing minute tightened something in her, until she began to think that she might break apart. Only he could loosen her.

Maybe just once more
.

“There you are,” Luke said suddenly, putting an arm around her and drawing her close to his side.

Then Winona and Aurora showed up.

“Let’s go,” Aurora said. “I’m starving.”

Vivi Ann let herself be swept along by Luke and her sisters as they left the church and walked the two blocks to Winona’s house.

There, they gathered in the living room for mimosas and homemade cinnamon rolls. The whole house smelled of spices and scented candles. Everywhere Vivi Ann looked there was a pretty little decoration, a possession. Was that what life was supposed to be—a search for things to own, a decorating of otherwise empty rooms? She went to the sunroom and stared out at the garden, which was a riot of tamed, clipped color. Every plant had been shaped to match Winona’s precise vision.

It should have been beautiful, and was, in a controlled way that wasn’t what Vivi Ann wanted at all. It was like their mother’s garden had once been—tended with care and planted with precision, rows that were even and straight and true.

She glanced sideways, wishing she could see the ranch from here, wondering what he was doing now. Behind her, she could hear her sisters talking to her, but it was just noise. She remembered last night in vivid detail, wanting it—him—again.

“Vivi? Are you listening?” It was Winona, and she was practically yelling.

“We’re talking about where to have your reception,” Aurora said sharply.

Slowly, Vivi Ann turned around and found them all staring at her. “Oh. Sorry. I was looking at the garden. It’s so pretty, Win.”

Luke pulled her into his arms. “I’m worried about you, baby.”

“We all are,” Aurora said.

“The ranch is too much for her,” Winona said. “Maybe we need another hand to help out.”

They were closing in on her—Aurora, who saw too much, was frowning, while Winona, who wanted too much, looked pissed off. And there was Luke . . . whom she wanted to love, should love . . . but couldn’t. They were gathering forces, giving each other concerned glances, and she knew she should feel enfolded by the concern, comforted, but instead she felt claustrophobic. All she wanted to do was run up to the cabin again and be with Dallas; that need terrified her. She had to stop this madness
now,
before it burned her to ash. “Maybe we should go somewhere, Luke. Just the two of us. See how we get along twenty-four hours a day.”

“They call that a honeymoon,” he said, smiling. “I was thinking of Paris. I know how much you want to see the world.”

“Do I?”

She could envision their trip in the smallest detail: they’d have a moderately priced hotel room—maybe with a view of the Eiffel Tower if they were lucky—and they’d base their dining decisions on recommendations from a tourist guide. They’d see every sight the City of Lights had to offer, and they’d talk easily while they walked down the Champs-Élysées or along the Seine. Everything would be romantic, but there would be no ripping off each other’s clothes in impatience, no days spent naked in bed making love. “I really don’t feel well,” she said, feeling Winona’s narrowed gaze on her. Vivi Ann was careful not to look at her sisters.

“I’ll walk you home,” Luke said.

“No,” Vivi Ann said sharply, then softened her tone with a smile. “Please.” She heard the tinny desperation in her voice and there was nothing she could do about it. If she stayed here another minute, she’d explode. “It’s a beautiful day for a walk.”

“Let her go,” Winona said, surprising them all.

“You sure?” Luke asked Vivi Ann.

“I’m sure.” She pressed up onto her toes and gave him a quick kiss, pulling back before he could deepen it. “See you all later.”

She was careful to walk slowly, as if she really felt bad. Outside, she kept up the pretense, walking down First Street toward the water. It wasn’t until she came to the corner and ducked into the shade of an old tree that, finally, she could breathe.

And there he was, standing in front of the Waves Restaurant, looking recklessly out of place amid the gnomes in the yard. He wore his dusty white cowboy hat drawn low on his head, so low that even with the sunlight shining down on him she couldn’t make out his eyes. The bold black tattoos stood out on his tanned bicep, a sharp contrast to the overwashed gray cotton of his T-shirt.

She pretended not to see him and kept walking, but when she heard his footsteps following her on the sidewalk across the street, she walked faster.

At Water’s Edge, she went inside and shut the door, hearing it click; a brass mechanism that separated her from a world she hadn’t even known existed before. “Dad? Are you here?”

There was no answer.

Alone in the house, she stood there, waiting.

Then she heard footsteps on the porch . . .

The door handle began to turn.

He came into the house like a hot summer wind. She stumbled sideways and hit the dining table. He pinned her against the heavy wood, pressed his hips into hers, and kissed her so long and so hard she couldn’t breathe enough to tell him to stop. She felt his hand slide up her bare leg, balling the fabric of her skirt in his fist. His hand slipped into her underpants.

She fumbled at the buttons of his jeans, ripping them open, shoving them down to his knees. Her hands were desperate on his body, pushing, pulling; her need was so intense she couldn’t remain quiet, and when he pushed her back onto the table and thrust deep inside her body, she cried out his name.

When it was over, and she’d come back to herself, she felt shaky and off balance. She lay there, with her skirt bunched up around her waist and her panties around her ankles, on her mother’s dining room table. And she knew she should be ashamed. “This is crazy,” she said quietly. “I can’t live with it. The lying . . .”

He touched her face with a gentleness that surprised her. “It won’t last long, Vivi. We both know that. In the end, you’ll marry Khaki Ken and no one will ever know about us. So come to my bed.”

“Okay,” was all she could say. It was the wrong answer—immoral and hurtful and wrong—and still she took his hand.

That summer, Vivi Ann learned to lie. Throughout the rest of July and August, she worked long hours at the arena, sometimes alongside her father, but more often on her own, teaching lessons or training horses or scheduling the many uses of the barn. She celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday at one of her own barrel races, and for the first time in her life she overheard someone say she was dedicated.

Dallas had taught her a lot about running a ranch. Water’s Edge now hosted some of the best jackpots and clinics in the western half of the state. Ropers and barrel racers and cutting teams came regularly to compete for money and prizes. Afterward, they went home and told their friends and more people came.

During the hot, sunny days, Vivi Ann made sure to be her old self. The Pearl Princess. She still cooked three meals a day and served each one at the dining room table to two men who rarely spoke. At first she’d been careful at these meals not to make eye contact with Dallas, afraid that her father would see that which she tried so hard to conceal, but in truth, her dad hardly paid her any attention either way.

And thank God for that, because she was addicted to Dallas; it was as simple—as complex—as that. At least five nights a week she went to his cabin in the middle of the night. They tumbled into her grandmother’s brass bed like horny teenagers, making love until dawn.

Or maybe it wasn’t making love. Maybe it was just sex. She wasn’t sure and, to be honest, she didn’t care. He was booze and heroin and cigarettes, all wrapped into one: the bad habit she couldn’t quit. She learned to exist moment-to-moment, always on the lookout for an opportunity to be with him.

Like now.

It was a gorgeous Friday night in late August: the opening of the Oyster Days festivities. Preparations for the parade and street dance and charity auction had been under way for weeks. In years past, Vivi Ann would have been knee-deep in all of it; this year, though, she’d made one excuse after another until this morning Aurora had come over and taken her hand and led her to the truck, saying simply, “Enough.”