Long, Tall Texans: Calhoun (11 page)

Calhoun saw the nervous motion, and it gave him hope. "How about dancing one with me?" he asked quietly.

She looked up, her eyes searching his face almost hungrily. "No, I'd better not," she said softly.

He caught his breath at the wounded sound in her voice. "Abby, why not?" he asked.

"It might hurt Shelby's feelings," she said, and turned away, searching the room desperately for Tyler. "I can't imagine where Tyler got to," she added huskily.

Calhoun looked like a radio with the transistors removed. He blinked, doubting that he'd really heard what she'd just said. Shelby might be hurt? Surely she didn't think---It suddenly dawned on him that if Abby was crazy enough to imagine he was getting involved with Shelby, Justin might, too.

He turned toward the table where Justin was sitting like a statue, and whistled under his breath. "Oh, my God," he breathed. "I've done it now."

Abby didn't say another word. She watched Calhoun move through the crowd toward Justin and wondered absently if his life insurance was paid up. Justin looked murderous.

There were two full ashtrays in front of Justin, and one half-empty whisky glass. The older man drank on occasion, but usually not when he was angry. If he did, he limited himself to one drink. The glass was what told Calhoun how angry his older brother was.

Calhoun sat down across from him, leaning back to study the older man. "She was lonely," he told Justin.

Justin drained his glass and rose, his eyes blacker than Calhoun had seen them in a long time. "Then I'll see what I can do about it."

While Calhoun was catching his breath, Justin walked to Shelby's table. He didn't say a word. He looked at the woman until her face colored, then simply held out his hand. She put hers into it. He pulled her onto the dance floor, and they melted into each other to a slow, dreamy tune.

Abby sighed as she watched them. They were stiff, as if there were more than just space between them, but the look on Shelby's face was hauntingly beautiful. His expression was less easily read, hard and rigid. But Abby would have bet that he was as close to heaven as he'd been in six years.

"How about that for a surprise?" Tyler murmured over her head, watching. "My God, look at them. They're like two halves of a whole."

"Why did they ever split up?" she asked him.

"I don't know," he said with a sigh. "I think my father was mixed up in it somehow, and one of his friends.

But Shelby never talks about it. All I know is that she gave him back his ring and he's been bitter ever since."

As the music ended, the couple stopped dancing. Justin released Shelby very slowly and abruptly turned and walked out of the dance hall. After a minute, Shelby went back and sat down. Calhoun returned to the table.

Abby, turning to watch Calhoun bend toward Shelby, felt even sicker when she saw Shelby get up and leave the building, holding Calhoun's arm.

She toughed it out for several more dances, but when Calhoun didn't come back, she finally realized that he'd more than likely taken Shelby home. And was still there...

"Can we go home, Ty?" she asked huskily.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Ty asked, his voice full of sympathy.

"I'm tired," Abby replied, and it was no lie. She really was. She was tired of watching Calhoun in action. First the blonde, now Shelby, and all in one week. But plain little Abby didn't figure in his world. She didn't even matter. She looked up at Ty, her eyes misty with unshed tears. "Do you mind?"

"Of course I mind," he said gently. "But if that's what you want, we'll go."

Abby didn't speak all the way home. It was unlike Calhoun to deliberately start trouble. It was almost as if he were getting back at Justin for something, but for what? Justin hadn't done anything to him.

Tyler walked her up the steps onto the long front porch with its graceful arches and porch furniture.

"Sorry the evening ended so abruptly," Tyler said. "But I hope you had fun."

"I did, honestly," she said, smiling up at him.

He took a deep breath and bent toward her hesitantly. When she didn't resist, he brushed his mouth gently against hers.

There was no response, and after a minute he lifted his dark head.

His green eyes searched hers, and he wasn't smiling. "You don't have a clue, do you, honey?" he asked gently. "And I think it's lack of interest more than just lack of experience."

"You think I'm green as grass, too, I guess," she sighed miserably.

He cocked an eyebrow and tweaked her chin with his lean fingers. "So that's how it is." He pursed his lips. "Well, little Abby, with some cooperation from you I could take care of the green part in about five minutes. But I think that's a lesson the man you're mooning over should teach you." He touched his lips to her forehead. "I hope he appreciates his good luck. You're a special girl."

"He doesn't think so, but I'm glad you do." She looked up at him with a faint smile. "I wish it could be you."

His expression hardened for just an instant before the old mocking humor came back. "So do I. Want to go to dinner one night? Just a friendly dinner. I know when a door's being closed, so you won't have any worries on that score."

Her smile grew brighter. "You're a nice man."

"Not always." He touched her cheek gently. "Good night."

"Good night, Tyler. I had a good time."

"So did I."

He took the steps two at a time, and Abby stood quietly, watching him drive off. It was a long time before she turned and went into the house.

She closed the front door and started toward the staircase, only to be stopped in her tracks by an off-key rendition of a Mexican drinking song. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognized it as one Justin sang on the very rare occasions when he had had too many glasses of whiskey.

Abby went all the way inside the house and closed the door. Then she slipped down the hall to the study and peeked in.

Justin was holding a square whiskey glass. It was empty. He was sprawled on the leather sofa with his dark hair in his eyes and his shirt rumpled, one big boot propped on the spotless leather seat, singing for all he was worth. On the coffee table beside him were a smokeless ashtray, a crumpled cigarette pack, a fresh cigarette pack, and half a bottle of whiskey.

"No puedo hacer..."
He stopped at the sound of her footsteps and looked up at her with bloodshot eyes.

"Oh, Justin," she moaned.

"Hello, Abby. Want a snort?"

She grimaced at the glass he held up. "It's empty," she told him.

He stared at it. "Damn. I guess it is. Well, I'll fill it up, then."

He threw his leg off the sofa, almost ending up on the floor in the process.

Abby put down her purse and coat and helped him onto the sofa. "Justin, this won't help," she said. "You know it won't."

"She cried," Justin murmured. "Damn it, she cried. And he took her home. I want to kill him, Abby," he said, his eyes blazing, his voice harsh. "My own brother, and I want to kill him because he went off with her!"

She bit her lower lip. She didn't know what to say, what to do. Justin never drank, and he never complained.

But he looked as if he were dying, and Abby could sympathize. She'd felt that way, too, when Calhoun had left with Shelby.

"I saw them go," he ground out. He put his face in his lean hands and sighed heavily. "She's part of me. Still part of me after all the years, all the pain. Calhoun knew it, Abby, he did it deliberately...."

"Calhoun loves you," she defended him. "He wouldn't hurt you on purpose."

"Any man could fall in love with her," he kept on. "Shelby's beautiful. A dream walking."

Abby knew how attractive Shelby was. The knowledge didn't help her own sense of failure, her own lack of confidence or her breaking heart.

"Drinking isn't the answer," she said softly. She touched his arm. "Justin, get some sleep."

"How can I sleep when he's with her?"

"He won't be for long. Tyler just went home," she said tautly.

He took a deep breath, letting it out in jerks. His hands came away from his eyes. "I don't know much about women, Abby," he said absently. "I don't have Calhoun's charm, or his experience, or his looks."

She felt a sense of kinship with him then, because she had the same problem. Justin had always seemed so self-assured that she'd never thought of him having the same doubts and fears that she did.

"And I don't have Shelby's assets," Abby confessed. She sat down beside him. "I guess we'd both lose a beauty contest. I wish I was blond, Justin."

"I wish I had a black book." Justin sighed.

She grinned at him, and he grinned back. He poured whiskey into the glass, getting half again as much on the heavy coffee

table. "Here," he offered it to her. "To hell with both of them. Have a shot of ego salve."

"Thanks, masked man," she sighed, taking it. "Don't mind if I do."

It tasted horrible. "Can you really drink this stuff and live?" she wondered. "It smells like what you put in the gas tank."

"It's Scotch whiskey," he returned. "Cutty Sark."

"It would cutty a shark all right," she mused, sipping it.

"Not cutty a shark. Cutty Shark. Sark. Hell." He took the glass and finished what little whiskey she'd left.

"Now, if you're going to drink Cutty Sark, Abby, you have to learn to sing properly. I'll teach you this song I learned down in Mexico, okay?"

And he proceeded to do just that. When Calhoun walked in the front door about thirty minutes later, there was a very loud off-key chorus coming from the study.

He stared in the door incredulously. Justin was lying back on the sofa, his hair in his eyes, one knee lifted, a whiskey bottle in his hand. Abby was lying against his uplifted knee, her legs thrown over the coffee table, sipping from a whiskey glass. She looked as disreputable as his brother did, and both of them looked soaked to the back teeth.

"What in hell is going on?" Calhoun asked as he leaned against the doorjamb.

"We hate you," Abby informed him, lifting her glass in a toast.

"Amen." Justin grinned.

"And just as soon as we get through drinking and singing, we're going to go down to the feedlot and open all the gates, and you can spend the rest of the night chasing cows." She smiled drunkenly. "Justin and I figure that's what you do best, anyway. Chasing females, that is. So it doesn't matter what species, does it, old buddy?" she asked Justin, twisting her head back against his knee.

"Nope," Justin agreed. He lifted the whiskey bottle to his lips, rolling backward a little as he sipped it.

"We were going to lock you out," Abby added, blinking, "but we couldn't get up to put on the chain latches."

"My God." Calhoun shook his head at the spectacle they made. "I wish I had a camera."

"What for?" Justin asked pleasantly.

"Never mind." Calhoun unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. "I'll make some black coffee."

"Don't want any," Abby murmured drowsily. "It would mess up our systems."

"That's right," Justin agreed.

"You'll see messed-up systems by morning, all right." Calhoun grimaced and moved off toward the kitchen.

"We should check his collar for lipstick!" Abby told Justin in a stage whisper.

"Good idea," Justin frowned. He started to sit up, then fell back against the arm of the sofa, cradling the bottle. "In a minute. I have to rest first."

"That's okay," she said. "I'll do it." She yawned. "When he gets back." Her eyes closed.

By the time Calhoun got back, they were both snoring. The whiskey bottle was lying on the floor, with the neck in Justin's lean hand. Calhoun righted it and put it on the table along with Abby's empty glass. The sight of them was as puzzling as it was amusing. Both Justin and Abby were usually the teetotalers at any gathering, and here they were soused. He wondered if his leaving with Shelby had set them off and realized that it probably had. In Justin's case it was understandable. But Abby's state was less easily understood, after the way she'd treated him since he'd kissed her. Unless...

He frowned, his dark eyes quiet and curious as he watched her flushed, sleeping face. Unless she'd finally realized why he'd been rough with her and was regretting her hot words. Was that possible? She'd seemed jealous of the time he'd spent with Shelby at the dance, and here she was three sheets to the wind. Well, well. Miracles did happen, it seemed.

He still wasn't sure about Tyler Jacobs's feelings toward Abby, but at least now he didn't have to worry about Justin's. If just seeing his brother with Shelby had this effect on Justin, he was still crazy about Shelby.

Calhoun lifted Abby and sat her crookedly in a chair while

he laid Justin down on the sofa, pulled the older man's big boots off and covered him with one of the colorful serapes that were draped on chairs all over the room. Then he swung Abby up in his arms, balanced her on his knee while he turned off the overhead light, and closed the study door. Justin was going to hate himself in the morning.

Abby stirred as he carried her up the staircase. Her eyes flickered open, and she stared up drunkenly at the hard, quiet face above hers.

"You're with Shelby," she muttered drowsily. "We know you are. We know what you're doing, too." She laughed bitterly, then sighed and broke into the Mexican song Justin had taught her.

"Stop that." Calhoun scowled at her. "My God, you shouldn't use language like that."

"What language?"

"That song Justin taught you," he muttered, topping the staircase and heading down the hall toward her room. "It's vulgar as all hell."

"He didn't say it was."

"Of course he didn't. He wouldn't have taught it to you if he'd been sober. He'll have a heart attack if he hears you singing it when he's back on his feet."

"Want me to teach it to you?" she asked.

"I already know it."

"That isn't surprising," she sighed. She closed her eyes as he walked through the open door into her room and kicked it shut behind him. There were memories in this room, he thought angrily as he headed toward the bed. Abby, half-naked on that pink coverlet. Abby's soft body under his against that far wall—where she'd put a bookcase. He frowned at it.