Long, Tall Texans: Calhoun (13 page)

He sat down at the small desk in a corner of his room and wrote Justin a note telling him he was going away for a few days to check on some stockers in Montana. Justin might think

it strange, but Abby wouldn't. He wondered how she was going to feel when she woke up and found him gone. He hoped she wouldn't even remember what they'd done in her bed together. But even if she did, that was going to be one private memory. Abby wouldn't share it any more than he would.

Abby groaned the minute the light got to her eyes. She had the world's biggest headache, and nausea sat in the pit of her stomach like acid.

She managed to get on her feet and into the bathroom, where she bathed her face with cold water and pressed a cold cloth against her eyes. She remembered drinking whiskey in the study with Justin. Then Calhoun had taken her to bed, and—

Her head jerked up. In the mirror her eyes looked wild, and her paleness had been eclipsed by a scarlet blush. She'd let Calhoun see her. Worse, she'd let him touch her. She swallowed. Well, at least she remembered that he'd stopped before she'd gone to sleep, so nothing unspeakable had happened, thank God.

As more of the details of her eagerness came back, she groaned in embarrassment. She'd never be able to look at him again, although what had happened would make the sweetest of memories to tuck in a corner of her mind for solace in her old age. Calhoun would never settle down or fall in love with her. He'd be forever out chasing his blondes. But this was something of him that Abby would always have. A tiny crumb of loving to live on.

Now she understood what had happened that morning in her

room. He hadn't been rough on purpose. He'd wanted her. It gave her the oddest feeling of pride that she could have thrown him that far off balance. She was almost sure that no other woman ever had. Looking back, she thought she must have seemed terribly naive to him for reacting that way to an intimate kiss. But at the time his actions had seemed shocking and frightening. For all her dreams about Calhoun, she hadn't realized what the reality of his lovemaking would be like. Now that she knew, it was like an addiction. She wanted more. But could she afford the risk of letting him that close again?

A sob racked her slender body. Well, she had to get herself together. She had to remember her pride. She held her aching head. She had to remember, most of all, to never accept a drink of whiskey from Justin again! Or from anyone, for that matter. Drowning one's sorrows was vastly overrated. She'd tried it, and now she knew that it only brought hangovers, not oblivion.

She put on a gray slacks suit with a blue blouse, left her hair around her shoulders because she was hurting too much to worry with putting it up, and pulled on a pair of sunglasses. Then she felt her way down the staircase and into the dining room.

Justin was sitting at the table with his head in his hands. He was dressed in jeans and a blue checked shirt, and when he looked up, his eyes looked even worse than Abby's.

"Nice touch," he remarked, noticing the dark glasses. "I wish I had mine, but they're out in the car."

"You look like I feel," Abby said as she sat down, very gently, in the chair beside him, grimacing because even that slight jarring made her head feel like bursting. "How are we going to work today?"

"Beats me," Justin replied. "Calhoun's gone."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she was glad she was wearing dark glasses. "Is he?"

"Skipped town. Gone to Montana to look at stockers, or so he said." He fumbled for a cigarette and lit it.

"I'm rather disappointed. I had consoled myself all morning with the thought of beating the hell out of him for last night."

"How selfish," Abby muttered as she tried to pour herself a cup of hot coffee from the carafe. "I ought to get in a lick or two of my own."

"I'll sit on him, you can hit him," Justin offered. He sipped black coffee and smoked quietly.

Abby took one swallow of her coffee and sat back, feeling miserable. "Weren't we singing something?" she thought, frowning. "Oh, yes, I remember...." She launched into a few measures of the song. Justin went white, and Maria came running out of the kitchen, beet red, waving her apron.

A tidal wave of Spanish hit Abby between the eyes, delivered in a scolding, furious tone. "For shame, for shame!" Maria wound up breathlessly, crossing herself. "Where you learn such terrible language?"

Abby stared at her blankly. "Justin taught me," she said.

Justin had his face in his hands. Maria launched into him, and he replied in the same tongue, a little sheepishly. Maria shook her head and stormed out of the room.

"What did I say?" Abby asked him, wide-eyed.

He took a slow breath. "You don't want to know," he said finally. "I think you'd better forget the song, Abby, or we're going to be eating burned meals for a month."

"You taught it to me," she pointed out.

He groaned. "I was sauced. That was a drinking song I learned when I was barely out of school from one of the Mexican boys I used to pal around with. I didn't even remember it until last night, and I never should have taught it to you."

"It's all Calhoun's fault," she said.

"I wonder why he started it?" Justin asked, watching her. "He didn't show any signs of wanting to dance until he saw you and Tyler."

Abby shifted restlessly in her chair. "Well, he doesn't want me," she said miserably. "Not on any permanent basis, anyway. He told me last night that he was a bad marriage risk. He likes variety, you see."

"Most men do, until they find themselves so hopelessly enthralled with one woman that they can't even look at anyone else," Justin said tersely, staring at his coffee.

"Is that why you spend all your time alone?" she asked

gently, searching his hard, drawn face. "Because your world begins and ends with Shelby?" He glared at her. "Abby..."

"Sorry." She sipped the coffee. "It's just that I know how it feels now." She traced the pattern of her lipstick on the edge of the cup. "I feel that way about your stupid, blind brother."

The brief anger left his face, and he smiled gently. "I could pretend to be surprised, but I'm not. You're pretty obvious. On the other hand," he added, tilting his head back, "so is he. In all the years Calhoun's been dating, this is the first time I've ever seen him behave as if he were jealous."

Abby bit her lower lip. "He...wants me," she said. She couldn't look at him as she said it.

"Of course," he replied carelessly, smiling at her shocked expression. "Abby, for a man that's a big part of caring about a woman."

"I guess I don't know very much about men," she said with a sigh. "In fact, I don't know anything. Except that I want to live with him all my life, and have children with him, and look after him when he's sick, and keep him company when he's lonely." She bit her lower Up. "So, that being the case, Justin, I think I'd better get out while I still can. Before something happens and Calhoun winds up trapped." She looked up at Justin, her fear plain in her eyes. "You understand, don't you?"

He nodded. "I think you're very wise, Abby.
If
he cares enough, he'll come after you. If he doesn't...you might save both of you a lot of heartache by heading off trouble." He shrugged. "But I'll miss having you around."

"I'll come back and visit." She sipped more coffee, and as she began to feel a little better she took off her dark glasses. "Can I still have my twenty-first birthday party here?"

"Sure," he said readily.

"You may not approve of my guest list," she added gently.

He took a deep breath. "Tyler Jacobs will be on it, I gather."

"And Shelby." He glared at her, and she smiled hesitantly. "Justin, I can't very well invite him and not her.

How would it look?"

"Calhoun might—" He stopped short.

Abby lifted her chin. "I have to stop caring what Calhoun does, and so do you. And if you don't like Calhoun paying attention to Shelby, why not do something about it?" she added impishly. "You might get her drunk and teach her that terrible song."

He almost smiled. "I did once," he said, his dark eyes softening at the memory. "The night we got engaged."

Then he flinched and got up from the table. "I've got to try and go to work. How about you? Can you make it?"

"Of course I can." She stood up, feeling as wobbly as he looked. She glanced at him ruefully. "Shall we flip a coin and see who drives?"

He chuckled. "I think I'd better. I've got more practice at it than you have. Come on."

They muddled through the day, and at the end of it Abby called Mrs. Simpson and asked if she could go ahead and move in later that week. The older woman was delighted and promised to have the room ready.

Then, with a heavy heart, Abby began to pack up her things, getting ready to say goodbye to the only home she'd known for the past five and a half years. Worst of all was the realization that once she left it she'd probably never see Calhoun again. Although she hadn't mentioned it to Justin yet, she'd decided to quit her job at the feedlot, too. The prospect of seeing Calhoun every day, knowing that he wanted her but had no love for her, would tear her heart out.

Justin and two of the cowhands helped her get her possessions over to Mrs. Simpson's house. Since the room was furnished, she hadn't tried to take furniture with her, but she had plenty of clothes and records and books to carry. Her stereo and her color television went with her, along with her memorabilia. It was easier to think about living elsewhere with her belongings around. But after having a home of her own, even if she had shared it with the brothers, it was hard to adjust to a small apartment in someone else's house.

She gave notice at the feedlot the very next day. It was hard, but Justin seemed to understand. He didn't say a word. He just smiled.

But Calhoun didn't understand. He came back unexpectedly in the middle of the following week, and when Abby came back from lunch it was to find him sitting on the corner of her desk, looking worn and smoking like a furnace.

She stared at him with eyes that adored him. It had only been a few days. A little over a week. But she'd ached for him. To be without him was like having part of her body cut away, and she didn't know how she was going to manage to hide her feelings from him.

He was wearing a beige suit with a striped shirt, and his blond hair gleamed clean and thick in the light from the office window. He scowled over his cigarette.

She straightened the skirt of her pale blue dress nervously, waiting for him to look up. Then he did, and she saw the darkness of his eyes, the faint shadows under them.

He looked at her for a long time, oblivious to the noise around them, the ringing telephones, the buzz of printers. He looked at her until she felt uncomfortably warm and she blushed.

"You've moved out," he said without preamble.

"Yes," she replied huskily.

"And you've put in your notice here."

She took a deep breath, moving a little closer. He smelled of spice and soap, and she stared unconsciously at his mouth, remembering its exquisite sweetness on her lips. "I...I'm going to work for George Brady and his father," she said. "At the insurance office. I'm used to working with forms, so it won't be so unfamiliar."

"Why?" he ground out.

She smoothed her lower lip with her tongue, looking up at him with soft, wounded eyes.

"Here," he muttered, catching her arm. He pulled her into his office and closed the door behind them, frowning down at her. He didn't let go even then. His fingers were warm and firm through her soft sleeve, and their touch made her tingle. "You know I can't stay in the house anymore," she whispered. "You know why."

"Are you that afraid of me?" he asked quietly.

She shifted restlessly, letting her eyes slide down to his firm jaw. "I'm afraid of what could happen."

"I see."

It was embarrassing to talk to him about it, but he had to know how vulnerable she was. It wasn't anything he hadn't guessed. She studied his patterned red tie carelessly.

"I suppose I sound conceited," she added. "But...but if you—" Her eyes closed. "I'm vulnerable," she whispered. Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it. "Oh, Calhoun, I'm so vulnerable—"

"Don't you think I know?" he said under his breath, and the eyes that met hers were dark with emotion.

"Why do you think I left?"

She couldn't look at him anymore. She felt naked. "Well, I'm saving you from any more complications," she said tightly. "I won't be around."

He couldn't seem to breathe. His cigarette had burned out, and it hung in his hand, as dead as he felt. "Is that what you want?"

She straightened. "Tyler's taking me to dinner tonight," she said out of the blue, just to let him see that she wasn't going to try to hang on to him or act lovesick. "He's got a job, too, by the way. He's going to manage old man Regan's ranch for him. In no time at all he'll be settled and able to take on more responsibilities."

Calhoun's heart felt like lead in his chest. Was she saying what he thought she was? Was she implying that she might marry Tyler?

"You don't love him," he said harshly.

She looked up. "I don't need to," she replied quietly. "Love isn't anything. It's just an emotion that blinds people to reality."

"Abby!" he burst out. "You can't believe that?"

"Look who's talking." She glared at him. "You're the one who said it was for the birds, aren't you? You've never let your emotions get in the way of a good time!"

He took a slow, steadying breath, and his dark eyes searched hers in the static silence that followed. "Maybe that was true

a few years ago," he admitted, his voice deep and slow and measured. "I've never had any trouble attracting women, and I had a sizable appetite back then. But I learned that sex by itself has very little flavor, and it didn't take long to realize that most of those women were trading their bodies for what I could give them." He laughed bitterly. "How would that appeal to you, tidbit? Being traded a few kisses and a night in bed for a car or a coat or some expensive jewelry, so that you never could be sure that it was you or your wallet they really wanted?"