Fifty Ways to Say I’m Pregnant Page 3

  Tess and Meggie beamed up at him.

  “Hi, Beau.”

  “How’re you doin’?”

  His throat felt like it had a fence post lodged in it. He cleared it, raising his hat in a polite salute and then settling it back in place. “Well, I’m fine. Just fine.”

  “Nice night,” said Zach.

  “Yeah. Real nice.”

  About then, Jobeth giggled into her hand. A sideways glance and he saw that Starr was the one giving her the elbow, that time.

  “Where’s Daniel?” asked Tess. “He always enjoys a celebration. I’d have thought he’d come out tonight.”

  To keep his gaze from lingering too long on Starr, Beau made himself focus on Zach’s pretty wife. “Daniel’s feeling a little under the weather.” Beau had left the older man in his ancient easy chair, reading Western Horseman, looking kind of pale, vowing there was nothing wrong with him that a few antacids and a good night’s rest wouldn’t cure.

  Twin lines of concern formed between Tess’s smooth brows. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “He says he’s just tired. But I’m keeping my eye on him.”

  Tess smiled her gentle smile. “Good. He needs someone to look out for him a little. He pushes himself too hard sometimes.”

  “That he does.” The band struck up the next number. A slow one. It was now or never. “Ahem. Starr, I wonder if I might have this dance?”

  The second the words were out, he wanted to suck them right back in. They couldn’t have sounded stiffer if he was a damn corpse. He’d meant to be casual and easy. How ’bout a dance? maybe, or Come on. Let’s dance….

  Jobeth giggled again. If he’d had a pistol on him, he’d have fired a shot past her head just to shut that girl up. And then the giggle ended on a sharp, startled, “Oh!” She scowled at her sister and he put it together. Starr must have kicked her under the table.

  And Starr was…getting up. It was going to happen. He would have his dance. “Sure, Beau. That would be nice.” God bless America, was there ever a woman so blasted beautiful? She’d let that inky hair, once chopped and spiky, grow long. It flowed past her shoulders when she wore it loose, but tonight it was anchored up at the back, little wisps of it kissing her velvety cheeks. And those eyes…

  They were the eyes he saw in his dreams, lupine-blue. His breath was all tangled up in his chest. His heart stopped—and then set to pounding like a herd of spooked mustangs.

  She walked around the table toward him, not smiling exactly, but friendly enough. Her snug red top hooked at one shoulder, leaving the other bare, revealing skin so pure and fine-textured, it seemed to glow in the lantern light.

  She held out her hand and the mustangs in his chest started bucking and snorting. Damn, he was a sad case for certain.

  Her hand was slim and smooth and cool. His own felt hot and he knew it was rough. But she didn’t seem to mind.

  Her smile bloomed wide. The wild horses inside him went suddenly calm as he smiled back. “Come on, then,” she said. He let her lead the way across the flattened grass of the clearing and up the two steps to the dance floor.

  She tucked herself into his arms as if she’d been born to be there. Between that red top and her low-riding jeans, a narrow section of bare waist tempted him. She was never going to know how powerfully he wanted to ease his fingers under the stretchy material and wrap his hand around that silky inward curve….

  Uh-uh. He grasped her waist lightly, and his fingers didn’t stray where they had no right to go. He breathed in the scent of her. It was as he remembered it, hinting of some wonderful exotic flower, causing an old memory to stir…

  Jasmine, he thought. She smells like jasmine.

  Years and years before, when he was six or maybe seven, his mother had dared to try and leave his father. She’d taken Beau with her, to her people in Arkansas. On the cyclone fence in his grandmother’s side yard, grew a lush green vine thick with tiny trumpet-shaped flowers, the sweet scent so heady he would ignore the bees that swarmed over it, just to get close and breathe in their perfume. “That’s jasmine, Beau, sweetie,” his mother had told him, bending close, that heart-shaped gold locket she always wore falling out on its chain, gleaming in the sunlight.

  His father had come after them soon enough and brought them back. And Beau had never smelled jasmine again.

  Until Starr.

  Careful, he thought. Don’t hold her too close….

  For a moment or two, they simply danced, her head tucked against his shoulder, her scent enticing him, the feel of her under his hands making all his senses spin.

  Then she lifted her head and met his eyes. “So…how’ve you been?” It was a safe, general-type question and he found he was grateful to her for asking it. Talking was good. It kept him from getting too lost in the feel and the smell of her.

  “Working,” he said. “Keeping my nose clean.”

  She tipped her head to the side. The wisps of midnight hair stirred against her cheeks. “Happy?”

  The question, for some reason, seemed unbearably personal—intimate, even. As if she asked for the secrets in his deepest heart. His gut tightened and he almost missed a step. But he recovered. He pulled her a bit closer and felt the tips of her full breasts brush his chest. His Wranglers got tighter. Down, damn it, he thought. “I’m doin’ okay.” It sounded easy and offhand. Relief curled through him that his voice had not betrayed him. He relaxed again. “You?”

  She shrugged, one slim shoulder—the gleaming bare one—lifting, her slim waist shifting a fraction beneath his careful hand. “Yeah. I am.” She grinned, as if the thought pleased her. “I’m happy.”

  “Heard you graduated from C.U. last month.”

  “That’s right. B.A. in journalism. Dean’s honor list.” She chuckled. “And yes, I am bragging.”

  “You got the right. It’s a big accomplishment.” A few years before, with Daniel’s encouragement, he’d managed to pass his high school equivalency. But he didn’t say that. Yeah, it was a major step for him. He hadn’t made it past the ninth grade and he’d never expected to get a chance to go back. But a high school diploma looked pretty puny alongside a college degree. “I think Zach mentioned you were heading to New York City in the fall….”

  “That’s right. Grandmother Elaine pulled some strings.” Zach’s parents lived in New York. “CityWide Magazine,” she said. “It’s a weekly. I’ll start as an editorial assistant right after Labor Day.”

  “Well,” he said, striving for words that were brilliant and meaningful and finding nothing but, “that sounds just great.”

  “And for the summer, as usual, I’ll be at Jerry Esponda’s beck and call.” For as long as Beau could remember, Jerry had been publisher, editor-in-chief, reporter and printer of the local weekly The Medicine Creek Clarion. No doubt he appreciated Starr’s help every summer.

  “Jerry’ll be real sorry to see you go.”

  “Well,” she said pertly. “I’m not gone yet.”

  “Soon enough, though.”

  “Yeah,” she softly agreed. “Soon enough.” She tucked her head back into his shoulder and they danced the rest of the song without speaking.

  As they swayed to the music, he thought about how much things had changed since the last time he’d held her in his arms. She greeted the world with an open, easy smile now. She had her college degree and he had no doubt she would make it in the big city. And he…

  Well, he was as free as a man can ever get from the wrongs he’d done in the past. He’d paid his debt to society and lived straight with the law and his neighbors—and himself—for five years now.

  The music ended. Their dance was over.

  She lifted her head from his shoulder and he released her, his arms dropping to his sides. Better to let go quick. She would never be his to keep. “Beau,” she said in a musing tone, “you have the strangest look on your face….”

  Nearby, couples broke apart, some of them leaving the floor, others waiting, milling around a li
ttle, till the next song began. Still others climbed the steps in pairs from down on the grass.

  He said, “I was thinking that we’ve done okay, you and me….”

  She looked at him, real serious, for a second or two, and then she gave him a slow, dazzling smile. “Yeah, and who woulda thought it, huh?”

  He chuckled at that and tipped his hat to her. The band started up again, and damn, was he tempted to pull her close for one more dance. But another cowboy stepped in and Beau didn’t challenge him.

  Starr whirled off in the other man’s arms. Beau left the dance floor. He stood watching for a little while and then he turned and headed for his pickup parked in the dirt lot on the other side of the trees.

  About a half an hour later, he drove into the yard at the Hart Ranch. The lights were on in the kitchen and living room of the main house.

  Beau checked the green-glowing dash clock. Not quite eleven. Not real late, but later than Daniel had said he planned to be up. Beau decided he’d better go on in and check on him before heading for the trailer he called home.

  Daniel’s dog, Whirlyboy, came off the front porch with a low whine of greeting, his tail wagging hopefully back and forth. “Hey, boy. How’s it goin’?” Beau patted the hound’s smooth head and Whirlyboy bumped companionably against his leg as Beau climbed the wooden steps to Daniel’s front porch.

  He paused at the door before he gave it a tap, thinking of Starr again, of her scent that reminded him of jasmine, of her musical laughter on the night air.

  Whirlyboy bumped his leg again, eager for a chance to get beyond the door where his master waited.

  “We’re goin’, we’re goin’.” Beau gave the dog another pat and set his mind to a more constructive subject: the work he had planned for tomorrow. If Daniel was still up, they could take a moment to confer a little. They wanted to move several head of cattle from one pasture, where they’d eaten the grass down, to another where the grass was still long and thick. And, as always, there were fences to check.

  True, they didn’t need to do a whole lot of conferring on stuff that was already decided. But Beau liked sitting in Daniel’s kitchen over a cold drink or a hot cup of coffee, discussing the work ahead, or their plans for the herd. Daniel seemed to enjoy it, too.

  Beau tapped on the door. When no answer came, he tapped again, Whirlyboy’s tail beating against his leg in anticipation.

  Again, there was no answer, just the sound of the dog’s impatient panting, an owl hooting out by one of the sheds, the chirping of crickets in the grass—and he thought, from inside, the sound of low voices. Maybe the television in the front room?

  Beau turned the knob and pushed open the door. “Daniel?” He stepped into the small entry hall. Whirlyboy slid in around him and headed straight for the front room to the left, disappearing through the open double doors. The lights were on in there and Beau could hear those televised voices droning away. “Daniel?”

  No answer, just a sharp spurt of canned laughter. And Whirlyboy, whining in bursts of frustrated sound.

  “Daniel?” Beau said a little louder than before.

  “In here…” The voice was Daniel’s, but tight and low, the words kind of squeezed out around a groan. Beau moved into the doorway—and stopped dead at what he saw.

  The worried hound sat whining in canine distress at Daniel’s feet, as the big man squirmed in his easy chair.

  Daniel’s gray face ran sweat, his left hand pressed, clawlike, against his barrel chest. “Think…heart attack…”

  No, screamed a frantic voice inside Beau’s head. Not Daniel—no! He’d seen his mother die, and his mean old daddy. One of his brothers was dead, too—Lyle got his in a prison-yard fight. It was enough, Beau thought.

  Not Daniel. No way. I won’t let him go….

  “Just hold on,” he told Daniel, his own voice surprising him, it was so level and calm. “I’ll get help.” Beau spun on his heel for the phone in the hall.

  Chapter Two

  From the Medicine Creek Clarion,

  week of July 10 through July 16

  Local Rancher Suffers Heart Attack

  Daniel Hart, owner of the Hart Ranch, suffered a heart attack the evening of Friday, July 4. Mr. Hart had been feeling unwell during the day and was discovered by his ranch foreman, Beau Tisdale, in the midst of the attack.

  After a swift trip via EMT helicopter to Sheridan, a skilled team of surgeons determined that open-heart surgery was required. “It was touch and go there for a while,” reported the foreman when asked for comment. “But he made it through and he’ll be okay.”

  Mr. Hart will be recuperating at Memorial Hospital in Sheridan “for as long as they make him stay,” the foreman said. “He wants to get home the minute they’ll let him out of here.”

  Prayers and good wishes are greatly appreciated.

  “Beau’s moving into the front bedroom at the house,” said Tess. “So he’ll be there at night. And they’ve hired a day nurse to look after Daniel for the first week at home.” Tess stood at the counter rolling out pie dough.

  Edna, at the stove, slid a heavy crock of beans onto the rack in the oven, pushed the rack in and shut the oven door. “I’m just not sure they should be sending him home.” She clucked her tongue, a thoroughly disapproving sound. “Hardly more than a week since that heart attack. And what was that operation he had? A triple bypass?”

  “Quintuple,” Tess corrected.

  “Well, see what I mean? When I had that coronary vasospasm seven years back, they kept me up in Sheridan for the same amount of time Daniel is staying there. And what I had wasn’t even a true heart attack, let alone the fact that in my case there was no surgery involved.”

  From her place at the sink cleaning up after breakfast, Starr could see the tiny smile that tugged at Tess’s mouth. “Well, now, Edna. Every case is different. And I’d imagine they’ve made some big strides in medical science in the last seven years. I think we’ll just have to trust that the doctors know what they’re doing.”

  “Humph,” said Edna and trotted over to the pantry door, vanishing inside.

  “Rrrrooom, rrrrooomm.” Ethan appeared from the short hall that led to the stairs and the great room. He was flying his favorite plastic jet.

  “Ethan,” said Tess, “Did you put those blocks in the bin like I told you?”

  “Rrrrooom, rrooom, rooommmm…” Ethan kept his jet airborne.

  “Ethan John,” said his mother, pausing in the process of sprinkling flour on a half-flattened ball of dough. “Stop flying that plane and answer me.”

  Ethan let his hands drop to his sides, plane and all, and made a big show of slumping his four-and-a-half-year-old shoulders. “Aw, Mommmm…” Tess pointed her rolling pin at him and gave him a narrow-eyed scowl. With a put-upon groan and a tragic expression, Ethan stomped back out the way he’d come.

  Edna emerged from the pantry. She held two full Mason jars, one in each hand. “How about blackberry—and this nice apple butter I put up last fall?”

  “Perfect,” said Tess.

  Edna carried the jars to the table and set them down. “So. We’ll take the three pies and the beans and the jam over there. What else? We have some of last year’s tomatoes….”

  As the two older women launched into a discussion of what else should go to the Hart place to welcome Mr. Hart home, Starr wiped up the sink and hung the breakfast pans on their hooks. She poured herself another cup of coffee at about the same time Tess and Edna decided that last year’s tomatoes would do just fine. And a couple of loaves of fresh bread, too. Edna would start on the bread right away.

  Mug in hand, Starr turned from the coffeemaker and leaned against the counter. “Who’s going to take all this stuff over there?”

  Tess carefully guided the flattened dough over a waiting pie. “Well, we thought we’d do it together, Edna and me.”

  Casually, Starr blew across the top of the steaming mug. “Why don’t you let me?” She dared a hot sip as a thoroughly annoy
ing glance passed between Edna and Tess.

  Starr knew they were both thinking about all that mess with Beau in the past. But come on, she was a grown woman now and had a right to make to her own decisions when it came to men—not that there was any decision to be made about Beau. There was nothing between them anymore.

  Yeah, she’d danced with him on the Fourth. One dance. And she felt really good inside about that dance. They’d talked like two old friends, and laughed together. When she thought of Beau now, there was no bitterness. All that old garbage was over for good. That dance, to Starr, had signaled true peace between them. She felt really good about that.

  But peace between her and Beau didn’t mean she meant to run over there and jump the man’s bones or anything. Taking the food was a neighborly gesture, and she wanted to do it—and who could say if Beau would even be at the house when she got there?

  “Don’t you have to work?” asked Edna.

  Starr took a sip of coffee. “I don’t need to go in today.” Like her employer, she did any and everything over at the Clarion—including a little reporting on local goings-on. “I’ve got a piece for the Ranching Life section to finish up and I have to put together an article on what’s going on with the plans for the county fair. I’ll do those on my computer and send them over by e-mail. And I can take the opportunity while I’m at the Hart place to do a follow-up on how Mr. Hart’s feeling.” Jerry had done the original piece, but he’d be pleased if Starr handed in an update. “And besides,” she added, “you two have been baking pies and making beans. I’d like to do a little something to help out, too.”

  “Well,” said Edna, still at the table beside the jars of preserves. That was all. Just, well, and nothing else.

  Tess pinched the edges of her pie and sent Starr a soft smile. “Why not, if you’d like to? That’d be real nice.”