To Commit Page 13

  “Want to explain that?”

  “If she got upset about something in the kitchen, I could lose a good hand in addition to my cook. I never hire relatives because of that,” he explained.

  “Okay then. I can’t quote you an exact price because I don’t know what you want on the menu. If they’re going to want steaks that’ll be higher than chicken and dumplings or red beans and ham.”

  “You fix it, honey, and send me a bill. I don’t care what you cook. Just make sure there’s plenty of it on the table. Whatever it costs will be well worth the price and I know you are fair.”

  He tilted his head to one side and their gaze met somewhere in the middle of the kitchen. Neither looked away. Something was definitely there.

  Chapter Ten

  No one should ever pack up lock, stock and barrel and leave Oklahoma because of the weather. It has proven on many occasions that it can and will change in twenty minutes. On Thanksgiving Stella’s nephews had played football in the front yard in their short sleeved T-shirts. It stayed unseasonably warm all the way up to the Sunday before Christmas when one of those famous blue northers blew down from the North Pole.

  Stella chose a long brown corduroy skirt to wear to church. She rustled around the closet floor until she found both of her brown suede high heeled boots. Standing there in a skirt, boots and lacy bra, she slowly slid hangers from one end of the rod to the other in search of a sweater or shirt. Finally she settled on a bulky off white fisherman’s sweater. It didn’t show off her figure but she wasn’t trying to impress anyone that morning. She simply wanted to stay warm in the blustery north wind as she hustled from the parking lot into the church.

  She flipped her hair up into a twist and secured it with a dozen pins then picked up a dark brown leather bow with a puff of illusion attached to the back. It just barely classified as a hat but it would do. Roxie, Dee’s grandmother, had often reminded them that true southern women didn’t enter the Lord’s house without a hat and gloves, no matter what society did or did not accept. She had also told them emphatically when they first came to church with barely more than a little girl’s hair bow on their heads that St. Peter would probably make them scrub the toilets in heaven for their rebellion. A hat was something with a brim, according to her.

  Stella picked up a long brown suede coat and headed out the door. “I’ll just be glad to get through the pearly gates with the thoughts I’ve been having.”

  Roxie, Dee and Jack were sitting in their pew when she made her way down the center aisle toward the pew right behind them. The rest of Stella’s family hadn’t arrived yet but they’d be along shortly. Lucy hadn’t missed a church service since the day her husband left her for a younger woman.

  Stella remembered that day very well. Roxie, Molly and Etta had come to visit her mother that evening when the news swept through town like a tornado. Stella, Dee and Rosie played paper dolls in the living room while the three old queens talked to Lucy. When they left she dried her tears and the next Sunday she walked into the Baptist church with a hat on her head and gloves on her hands. She claimed a pew right behind Roxie and that ended the gossip.

  Stella reached up and patted Dee on the shoulder and suffered through a stinging glare at her hat from Roxie who was dressed in bright red velvet that morning. Her trademark ruffles adorned the sleeves, the peplum waist and the front of the jacket as well as the hem of the skirt of the suit. She wore a matching wide brimmed red velvet hat with a flourish of black illusion caught up in a wide bow on one side.

  Even at eight and a half months pregnant Dee looked smashing in a deep green velvet maternity dress with a matching hat every bit as big as Roxie’s. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at Stella, touched her hat and grinned. “Roxie made me wear it,” she mouthed silently.

  Stella nodded and felt a movement at the end of the pew. Expecting it to be her mother, Lauren and Maggie, she slid down a few inches further only to practically jump out of her skin when Rance sat down beside her. He wore a black, three pieced western cut suit, black eel boots and smelled like heaven.

  “Mind if I sit here?” He asked.

  “Free world,” she muttered.

  Roxie turned and narrowed her eyes. “S-h-h-h! You can talk after church.”

  Stella nodded. Rance raised an eyebrow. Stella shrugged her shoulders. Rance grinned.

  Lauren slipped into the pew beside him. Maggie followed and Lucy sat on the end. The music director moved from the front pew to the podium and called out a hymn number. Stella and Rance reached for the last book on the back of the pew in front of them at the same time. Their fingertips brushed and they both jumped as if they’d grabbed hold of a bare electric wire. Rance turned to the right page and shared it with Stella but he was careful not to touch her hand.

  Stella kept her hands clasped in her lap so tight they ached and wished she’d kept her kid leather gloves on instead of removing them and sticking them in the pocket of her coat she’d left on a hook in the foyer.

  So that’s the reason a southern lady wears gloves to church. Roxie didn’t ever tell us why. Just that it was a disgrace for a southern woman to appear in the Lord’s house on his day without gloves and a hat. Now I know. It hasn’t got a blessed thing to do with looks. It has to do with keeping skin from touching skin and the thoughts it provokes.

  Prayers were said. Sermon delivered. Altar call extended. Benediction given. And then they could talk but both Rance and Stella were tongue tied.

  “Rance! You are finally here!” Jodie grabbed him as soon as services were over in a fierce bear hug, molding her tall, slim body into his.

  “Been wondering where you were. I’ve been moved in for weeks now and you haven’t even called.” He kept an arm slung around her shoulder. “Stella, do you know Jodie?”

  “Of course we know each other,” Jodie grinned. “We grew up together. She and my sister Roseanna are the same age. My grandmother and hers were best friends since the sixth day of creation. Granny Etta is making chicken and dumplings. Come home with me for dinner.”

  “I’d love to. See you later Stella. Tomorrow at noon?” He asked.

  “It’ll be on the table at twelve sharp.” She tried to smile but it came out more of a grimace. Suddenly she was sorry that he gave his hired help Sunday off. Only a skeleton crew did the morning and evening chores and that rotated. So she and Maggie did not fix Sunday dinner for them.

  “Why don’t you come, too?” Jodie asked Stella. “Ya’ll, too, Roxie. Granny has enough to feed an army.”

  “Thanks anyway but we’ll have to pass. Dee’s got a cravin’ for chili, cheese tator tots with mustard. She woke me up at two o’clock wanting them and I promised if she’d go back to sleep I’d take her to Jewel’s Restaurant after church,” Jack said.

  “Well, I don’t have a cravin’ for any such thing and I’ll love to visit with Etta this afternoon, so I’ll take you up on the invitation and thank you for it,” Roxie said.

  “You?” Jodie looked at Stella.

  “No, I hear a good book and a nap calling my name. Tell Granny Etta hello for me, Roxie,” Stella escaped out the door before she turned neon green with jealousy.

  A slow drizzle had begun while she was in church. She hurriedly ran toward her pickup truck. The wind seeped through her coat and sweater and she shivered, wishing she could snuggle up in Rance’s arms for warmth. She should have a fling with Rance just to get him out of her blood or else give the Inn to Maggie and Lauren, get in the truck and run back to California. She could get her old job back or Tina would put her to work on her staff.

  “But a southern woman holds her head high and does not run from her problems, no matter if she’s walking in tall cotton or deep manure.” She remembered Roxie’s words.

  By the time Stella had the truck’s engine running, the rain had begun to freeze, a slick icing coating on every thing it touched: the hood of her pickup truck, the roads, tree limbs and pansy petals in the church flower beds. She turned west out of
the parking lot toward the stop sign, skidded just slightly when she braked and reminded herself to drive slowly as she turned left into the park entrance. By the time she passed the Cahill Lodge sign with an arrow pointing back east, tears had begun to stream down her cheeks.

  Jodie is so pretty and they have so much in common. Both of them are ranchers. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t ride bulls, too, just like she does. Why did he have to fall into my world?

  She wiped away the tears and brought back a mascara stained leather glove. A black cat darted out from one side of the road and she stomped the brakes to keep from hitting it. The truck went into a slippery, long sideways slide. She eased off the brake and turned the steering wheel but it wouldn’t respond to her touch. No matter which way she whipped the wheel, the truck kept sliding until it built up enough speed to do two or three complete circles in the middle of the road. When it finally came to a stop, the nose was pointed straight down into a ditch and the bed pointed toward heaven. All four tires were on frozen solid ground but Stella was shaking like a leaf in a tornado.

  She touched her face and looked at the gloves. No blood, just more tears. She wiggled her arms and legs. Nothing seemed to be broken but her chest had strained against the seat belt and would be bruised by morning. She leaned her head down on the steering wheel and sobbed, not with so much physical pain or even mental, but relief that she was still alive.

  Rance didn’t see the cat but he saw Stella’s truck go into a spin. He was a few hundred yards back and watched the scenario unfold in slow motion. By the time the truck stopped, he had found a place to pull over, and tried to run. His slick bottomed cowboy boots couldn’t get traction on the icy slope and he fell twice. From ten feet out, he saw her fall forward onto the steering wheel. She was unconscious or dead and he’d lose her, all because he wasn’t willing for that lifetime thing she kept talking about.

  Be alive! Please be alive. I’ll change my way of thinking. I promise. I love you. God, I do. I want you in my life. What am I thinking? I can’t love Stella.

  He jerked the door open and pulled a cell phone out of the inside pocket of his coat at the same time. He had dialed 9 and had his finger on 1 when she raised her head up. Pale as a ghost but her eyes were open. Tears streaming, but no blood. He flipped the phone shut and asked her if she was hurt.

  “No, just scared to death,” she shuddered. “You missed the turn to Jodie’s place.”

  “No, I didn’t. I was on my way home to change clothes first. I’m going to reach across you and unhook the seat belt. Thank goodness you had it fastened. Then I’ll take you home. We can call the wrecker service to come get your truck on the way. Here lean on me. You sure nothing is broken?”

  “I can walk,” she declared but her high heeled boots slipped on the frozen grass.

  He held on tighter. “Stuff is slicker than snot on a glass door knob.”

  She began to giggle. It wasn’t funny. It was gross but she’d heard Granny Brannon say the same thing and it was either giggle like a maniac or weep and he wasn’t going to see her cry anymore.

  The next step sent them both flailing backwards. Rance came to a stop at the bottom of the ditch on his back with Stella stretched out on top of him, her lips barely inches from his, frozen rain drops pelting down upon them without mercy as if trying to envelope them together in a solid lump of ice.

  “You all right?” She asked.

  “You knocked the breath out of me.” He sucked wet crystals up his nose when he tried to breathe.

  She rolled off him and tried to stand, only to fall again.

  “Dang boots.” She removed them.

  He sat up and wiped his face but in seconds it was wet again with ice crystals. “You’ll get frost bite on your feet.”

  “It’s either that or lay down here and freeze to death.”

  “Hey, don’t get sassy with me.” He made it to his feet before they both slipped and he sat down hard on the earth again.

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” She began to run up the slope, finding out she couldn’t run on ice. She slipped and slid and fell to her knees twice but got up and kept going. She didn’t even look back as she raced toward his truck. She jumped inside in one fluid motion and struggled to get out of a wet, cold coat.

  “Don’t fall off,” she pleaded with her toes. “Dang black cat anyway. I should’ve made it a frozen dinner for the buzzards.”

  “Damn. Damn. Damn.” The driver’s side door opened and Rance bailed inside, shutting out the cold as fast as he could and trying to dance his feet warm in the carpet around the gas and brake pedals.

  “Ready to go skinny dipping in Little Niagara?” She asked.

  “I’m ready to go home and get in my hot tub,” he answered as he started the engine.

  “You’ve got a dinner date remember? With Jodie?”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to make a pot of hot lemon tea and get in the hot tub. And you’re going with me. We’ll be lucky if we don’t both have pneumonia,” he said.

  “Do you really have a hot tub?” She asked.

  “I do. Mr. Morgan had one installed but it was old and the jets didn’t work any more so I replaced it. You want to stop at the Inn and get a swimming suit or are you up for skinny dipping?”

  “Just drop me at the Inn, Rance. I’ll just take a hot bath and drink some chicken broth.”

  “No deal. I saved your life. You can’t die on me now. So name your poison. Skinny dipping or bikini?”

  “Neither. But I do have a swim suit. You don’t live in these parts without one. In the summer we spend a lot of time at Buckhorn or in the park. Are you sure?”

  “Yes, but I’m not walking you to the door in my bare feet. They feel like they’ve got pins sticking in them right now. So hurry up.” He parked the truck as close to the porch as he could and turned up the heat.

  In a dozen quick, long strides she crossed the porch and was in the house. In less than five minutes she had shed her wet clothing, slipped into a pair of oversized gray sweat pants with a matching top, had on socks and fluffy house shoes. She opened a drawer and drew out a bright floral bathing suit and picked up a flannel lined denim jacket on her way out of the bedroom.

  “Hat looks really good with that outfit,” he said when she hiked a hip back up into the truck.

  “What?”

  “Your Sunday hat. Surprising enough it stayed put during all the slipping and sliding and it looks right fine with sweats,” he said.

  She flipped down the visor and looked in the mirror. Wet strands of limp blond hair hung around her face. Mascara ran from her eyelashes down her cheeks. Lipstick had worn off leaving a dark rim around the outside of pale lips. She looked like something that had been thrown at the dumpster after a Halloween party.

  “Did you call Jodie?” She reached up and took off the hat.

  “Not until I’m in dry clothes and have socks on my feet. Hungry?”

  “As a bear,” she admitted as he drove back down the lane and south a quarter of a mile then back into his own lane. “We should have eaten at the Inn. I’ve got leftovers from yesterday’s lunch.”

  “There’s only one thing I can cook that doesn’t come out of a can or a frozen package but I do make a mean omelet so we’ll eat at my place before we get into the tub. I can already feel those jets at work on my aching muscles. I’m glad we don’t have to go any further than this. The wipers can’t keep up with this slow drizzling ice.”

  When he parked, he grabbed up his boots and did a tip-toe dance into his house, yelling over his shoulder that she was to make herself at home and he’d be a gentleman next time.

  She hurried into the open front door. It had been years since she’d been in the old Morgan place. Not since she was a little girl and Granny Brannon had brought her over to see Frank Morgan when his wife died. He’d locked up the house not long after that and moved to Canada to live close to his daughter. The place had been for sale for at least fifteen years. Frank had
many offers for the house and fifty acres; even more for the house and five acres; but no one wanted twelve hundred acres and the house. Not until Rance came along.

  The living room opened off a foyer with a wide oak staircase up to the second floor. Rumor had it that there were six bedrooms up there and three on the lower floor. It looked like a man’s house with heavy antique furniture: a burled oak foyer table and matching secretary and a massive mahogany coffee table. The sofa was modern: chocolate brown velvet, deep and inviting. She sank down into it and stared at the empty fireplace. Maybe later they’d have a fire.

  Rance appeared in the doorway. “Food first. What do you like in your omelet?”

  He wore gray sweat bottoms and a Texas Longhorn T-shirt and thick white socks on his feet.

  “All of it. Whatever you’ve got, put it in the omelet and I’ll eat it. I’m starved,” she answered.

  She followed him into the kitchen where he took down a mixing bowl and removed a dozen eggs from the refrigerator.

  “Will you chop the peppers and onions? I’ll grate cheese and get the bacon cooking.” He gathered ingredients and more equipment.

  She nodded. He’d applied more cologne and her senses reeled. She carefully prepared peppers and onions while he fried bacon, making sure each piece was perfectly crisp. Her stomach grumbled but she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to swallow.

  “Did you call Jodie?” She finally asked.

  “I did. She said to tell you to go to the emergency room if anything started hurting. You might have broken a rib with that seat belt.”

  “I don’t think so. It’ll bruise but it doesn’t hurt when I breathe. How do you know Jodie?”

  “Oh, she’s the reason I’m here,” he said. “Met her about a year ago at a rodeo. She was riding bulls. Brought home the silver buckle that year and we had a few beers to celebrate. Anyway, we got to talking and I said I was looking to relocate. Sell a ranch south of Waco that belonged to my mother’s grandparents. Don’t know why I had the bright idea of relocating to Oklahoma. Guess it’s because of the good times I had with Dad when we came up here to hunt in the fall. We always stayed with Granny Brannon for a few days and I loved those times. Anyway, Jodie said there was this big old ranch for sale not far from her place. She sent me some information and I decided it was exactly what I wanted. I came up here and took a look. Liked it so much I went back to Waco and put my place on the market. I called Frank and he said he’d hold the property until mine sold. Soon as it did I paid the man and you know the rest. Hand me those vegetables. I’m ready to flip this big old boy.” He expertly tossed the omelet in the air and caught it in the skillet, added the middle ingredients and flipped it in half.