Lone Tree (40 page)

Though there’d been no humor in his face or voice,
out of relief she gave him what was probably a weak smile. Of the many subjects
he might introduce, her hair was the least distressing.

Not smiling back, he asked, “You moving in?”

She cleared her face, shook her head once.

His shirt was a new one, in drab olive green. She
didn’t think she’d ever before seen him in a solid-colored shirt. It lacked
sparkle, as did the rest of him.

“You’re just here for the stipulated three days?” he
asked, and she nodded.

He was deeply tanned, more so than before. His skin
had a dry, leathery look, as if he wasn’t taking care of himself. She might
also appear a bit harder and older to him; she felt that way.

He said nothing more, yet didn’t open the door. She
glanced pointedly at his hand on the doorknob, then back at him.

“Right talkative, aren’t you?” His voice was
clipped, and she now heard anger in it.

She made no response. In the blowup last year, he
was the only one innocent of wrongdoing, yet he’d also been hurt. Badly hurt, and
the least she could do now was let him vent.

“Just like last year, when you couldn’t move
yourself to call or to write. Now I know what the term
silent treatment
means.”

She looked away, as silent now as then. Nothing
would excuse her actions. Forgiveness would be hollow without the man along
with it anyway, and life with Reed was less possible now than it had been a
year ago. Too much time and distance. Too many mistakes.

“A year and a half and I got exactly three words
from you,” he went on. “The same three words you left me with. And, while we’re
on the subject, precisely what does
‘Reed, I’m sorry’
mean, anyway?
Sorry you were leaving? Sorry you didn’t trust me enough to talk to me? Sorry
you weren’t brave enough to say goodbye face to face?”

All of the above and more, she thought. Emotional
strain had her physically tightening her muscles; she feared that if she let
go, of anything, for even an instant, she’d fall apart.

He removed his hand from the door, exhaled heavily
and looked out over the horizon. “I thought I was over you, I really did. But
if I was, I wouldn’t be this angry.” He looked back. “Appears I’m having
difficulty putting you behind me. Where you belong.”

She winced at the sneer in his voice.

“Don’t you think we need to talk?” he asked after a
long moment, his manner again cold and even more distant. “About your plans for
the ranch?”

The question put them on a business level.

“Yes.” She heard the tightness in her voice, in just
that one word, and she tried not to take a deeper breath than was necessary.
She had to steel herself to look up and meet his eyes. They were so familiar,
yet not at all the same—so flat, no humor, no emotion.

“I’m meeting with Stuart Malcolm on Thursday,” she
said. “That’ll take most of the day, but then I need to talk to you. Can we
meet Friday morning?”

He was quiet for so long that Lainie felt wary. She
could read nothing in his face and worried about what he was thinking.

“So she can talk after all,” he said, and she again
heard unfamiliar derision. “We’re having a real conversation.”

She reached for the doorknob, but his hand closed
over hers. She pulled back as if she’d been burned. She waited a beat, not
looking at him, then said, “Open the door, Reed. Please.”

He remained immobile, face so hard and set that
Lainie thought about her options. Walking away seemed to be the only one she
had. What was she going to do if he didn’t allow her to exercise it?

Then he spoke. “Friday morning is tied up,” he said
flatly. “Can make it after dinner, around two.”

Lainie had the feeling that with that short speech
she’d been dismissed. He’d put her behind him. Where he’d said she belonged.

“Two o’clock is fine,” she said, gaze still on the
door. “In Miles’s office.”

He nodded, then opened the door and entered before
her. The act wasn’t so much rude as it was indifferent. She followed him in,
barely registering the rich aroma of pot roast, and she resolved to tell
Rosalie she’d be eating the rest of her meals in her cottage.

*

When Jackie Lyn opened her door and her gaze lit
upon Lainie’s hair, she looked appalled, then downright insulted. “There’s
brown and there’s brown, but that’s got to be the mousiest color I ever laid
eyes on.”

Lainie merely smiled; she’d expected no less from
Jackie. They exchanged a hug, tight and a little long, as if neither wanted to
let go, then she followed her hostess to the kitchen. It was warm and homey,
with a window overlooking a flowerbox of golden marigolds, yet in her mind’s
eye Lainie recalled the pretty white and green kitchen in which they’d shared
so many suppers and domino games. She’d met Jackie Lyn less than three years
ago, but it seemed they’d shared a lifetime of history.

Lainie studied her hostess, then asked pointedly,
“How are you?”

Jackie leaned against the counter and answered
matter-of-factly. “Still healing, getting further away from it all the time.
Won’t deny it’s still hard at times, but I’m gettin’ there.” She looked at the
flower box full of yellow blooms. “He was never part of me, not really, and he
surely can’t have any control over me now if I don’t give it to him.”

It seemed that a weight, one Lainie had grown so
accustomed to that she wasn’t always aware of it, lifted. Lainie wondered then
how to phrase the next question, but Jackie must’ve read it.

“Willis?” Jackie asked, then followed the name with
a blush.

Lainie smiled. “Good.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, why am I—never mind, never
mind.” Jackie appeared very prim and proper, clasping her hands and looking
down at them. “We see each other, and I must say I never knew anyone with as
much patience as that man has. He’s not pushing, but neither is he letting moss
grow on him. He keeps hinting he wants something more permanent, and I keep
holding back, and...”

She looked up. “The truth is I don’t know what the
future holds. I just don’t know. But I’ve got room for it now because the past
is behind me.”

Lainie hugged her, then drew back and cleared her
throat. “I’ll set the table.”

Jackie swallowed audibly, pulled in a long breath
and blew it out.

Then Jackie said, as she reached for a skillet, “You
might want to know that I finally got a grill. An electric one that fits on the
counter over there. Willis bought the thing for me, but I don’t use it. I still
like my fry pan. He cooks on it when he comes to eat.”

They ate hamburgers and potato chips and made small
talk. Jackie’s business had built; she’d had to hire another hairstylist for
two afternoons a week. Mack Jameson had given Randy some competition at last
week’s rodeo, but Randy had managed to come out on top.

When they finished their sandwiches, silence fell.

Jackie looked at her plate, then back up. “Told
myself I wasn’t going to do this, but I can’t help it.” Forcefully she crumpled
her napkin and tossed it onto her plate. “I just gotta tell you, girl, that you
are a confounded, stupid fool. You’re turning your back on the best chance for
happiness you’ll ever have, and I just don’t see how you can’t see that.”

“Let’s not get into it,” Lainie said quietly. “Won’t
get either one of us anywhere.”

Jackie directed a pained look at the window. “If I
can’t change your dad-blasted mind, then I can’t change your dad-blasted mind.”
Noisily she blew her breath out, then got to her feet and gathered plates.
“Yeah, you’re the best friend I ever had, and I hate losing you. But more
important, I have this powerful feeling you’re making a big mistake here, and
not only because of Reed. You’ve got way too much country in you to ever be
happy out there in California.”

She put the plates in the sink with a clatter. “But
you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do.” Not turning around, she added, “Can I at
least talk you into sticking around long enough for me to highlight your hair?
No charge. That head of yours is the neediest I ever saw.”

Lainie laughed softly, but her heart wasn’t in it.

Jackie’s shoulders rose in resignation, and then she
turned back around. “Okay,” she whispered. “If this is it, then give me a hug
and get on out of here. I don’t want to start bawlin’.”

Lainie did as bidden, not trusting herself to speak.

She fought the tears until the edge of town, then
pulled over and gave up. This had been a tear-filled, bittersweet homecoming.
Because it wasn’t one. It was instead an official end to a significant part of
her life.

Lainie stood stiffly in Miles’s office, awaiting
Reed’s arrival, not wanting to sit down before he got there. Because sitting at
either desk would’ve placed one of them in a subordinate role, she’d arranged
for a round table and two chairs to be brought in and placed in the corner near
the patio doors. She stood with her hands on the back of one of the new chairs,
too antsy to sit.

Reed had made it plain where Lainie stood with him.
He wanted her in his past. But he was still part of her. She was resigned to
the fact he always would be, and it was taking everything she had to deal with
him.

When she heard his boots thudding in the hall, she
squared her shoulders, raised her chin and tried to clear her expression.
Judging by the cool onceover he gave her when he stopped in the doorway, she thought
she’d succeeded.

Today’s shirt was also unfamiliar, but this one had
more life in it, soft-brown and light-gold stripes, subdued without being drab.
She missed the striking colors he’d always worn—reds and blues and greens,
stripes and checks and plaids. She wore no color, either, she realized with a
start. She’d tucked a plain white cotton shirt inside the waist of colorless
khakis. It struck her that they each appeared to be shells of who they’d once
been.

He appeared neither relaxed nor uptight; his manner
was watchful, expression noncommittal. They seemed to be neither lovers nor
adversaries, and that thought gave her pause. There was too much history for
that to be true.

He eyed the new furniture arrangement but didn’t
comment on it. He gave her a brief nod in greeting, crossed to the table, took
a chair opposite where she stood, and then she sat down also. Two copies of the
contract Stuart Malcolm had prepared were before her. She pushed one across to
Reed.

“If this meets with your approval, you can see
Stuart on Monday and sign it.” Her voice was as businesslike as she’d hoped.
“He has the original, and my signature’s already on it. I asked him to
summarize it in layman’s terms, and that top page is the gist of it.”

Stuart had experienced difficulty with both the
contract and the summary. She’d insisted that the summary be brief, and he had
to do it three times before he got it short enough to suit her.

Reed also seemed to be having difficulty with it.
His eyes narrowed when he got halfway down the page, and he went back to the
beginning. Then he thumbed the whole contract, skimming some pages, perusing
others. Lainie waited patiently.

He finally looked up. “Is this for real?”

She nodded.

“Can’t find any strings.”

“That’s because there aren’t any.”

He sat back. “You know what this spread is worth?”

“You don’t think Stuart told me?” She propped her
elbow on the chair’s armrest. “I came close to causing a stroke when I told him
the terms I wanted.”

The hint of a smile appeared, as if Reed might be
imagining the traumatized Stuart Malcolm. “Bet you did.”

Then he sobered, looked down at the document and
placed a hand on either side of it. “So, if I’m agreeable, you want to sell
your interest to me—acreage, main house and outbuildings, equipment, stock, the
works—for one dollar.” He looked up. “That about sums it up?”

At her nod, he said, “You’re full of surprises. I
could live to be a hundred and never figure you out.” He exhibited no
suspicion, no disbelief, no shock. “Why?”

“Miles should’ve left it to you in the first place.
It’s in your blood, a part of you, just as it was with him. I told him that.
And, for what it’s worth, I’d also told him if he left it to me I’d give it to
you.”

“So you’re still bucking him.”

“That’s how you see it?” She tilted her head,
thinking about it, then she said, “No. If all I wanted to do was buck him, I
wouldn’t have come back.”

She looked at the contract. “So is it a deal?”

“Yes. You’re right about the ranch and me belonging
together. Except I feel I belong to it, not the other way around.”

So she’d been right last year not to try separating
Reed from Lone Tree. But the realization was of little comfort.

Slowly his mouth curved into that familiar grin.
“And I would’ve paid you a lot more than a dollar for it.” Pushing his chair
back, he stood and reached into the pocket of his jeans. “But if that’s what
you want...” He extracted a dollar bill and placed it on the table between
them.