Chapter Four
“N o score for the cowboy from Lufkin, Texas.”
Caleb shifted the laptop on his knee and scrolled the video backward to restart the three-second ride. Red Rage was one of the orneriest, slipperiest bulls on the circuit, and he seemed to be showing up at all the rodeos on Caleb’s schedule. He’d be a high-point conquest, but only if Caleb stuck out the eight seconds and lived to tell the tale.
He watched the ill-fated ride a few more times, then set the laptop beside him on the bed. He drew his left arm out of the sling experimentally, sucking air through his teeth at the sharp pain in his shoulder. He dropped his hand between his legs and made a fist, turning his fingers up, imitating his grip on the bull rope. His shoulder burned as he twisted his wrist, but he ignored it, stretching his right arm forward, up, and back, forward, up, and back, over and over, his anxiety building as he registered the tightness in his back, the weakness in his left hand, and most of all the pain, searing and sickening and not diminishing in the least.
Sweat broke out on his brow. He scooted forward on the bed and the slight bump of his left wrist over the duvet sent such white-hot agony up his arm that he pitched forward. He gritted his teeth together, breathed slowly, and gingerly slid his hand back through the sling. Then he flopped back against the wall and tilted his head up toward the ceiling, waiting for the black dots dancing in his vision to dissipate.
“Not great,” he muttered when he finally felt like he could safely open his mouth without puking.
But he’d have to keep trying.
He’d been staying with Jessa for just a few days, yet his need to leave seemed to intensify almost hourly. Not because of anything she did—she was faultlessly hospitable, perfectly polite, and excessively kind, if a little standoffish. In fact, he kind of liked this change from nights spent in noisy, dirty motels and occasionally the front seat of his truck. He liked her, too, neuroses and rules and decorative soaps and all.
Which is why he had to get gone, and soonest.
He didn’t belong here, had left this kind of life behind the morning he threw his duffel bag into the passenger seat and drove away from his parents’ farm. Every inch of Jessa’s house screamed permanence, from the pictures hung on real nails to the citrus-tree saplings she’d planted along the back fence. Even the guest-room bed where he sat had sheets that coordinated with the paint on the walls and the teal dressing table against the window, beneath which his dusty jeans and olive-green duffel were like ugly, invasive weeds in a picture-perfect flower garden.
He’d tried domestic bliss. He’d recited his vows before their church community, saved his first kiss for the altar, relinquished his virginity in wedlock. He’d bowed his head and prayed over each meal he shared with his wife, drove her an hour to Johnson City so she could outfit the fifty-year-old, three-bedroom house they’d moved into on his parents’ property, and did his level best to be the dutiful, God-fearing, hard-working husband everyone wanted him to be.
Then his wife left. So he did, too.
Jessa had dug her roots deep these last two years, and he respected her for it. He just didn’t want to be the prickly tumbleweed rolling through her rose garden—and he didn’t want to get snagged on those thorns, either.
A knock sounded on the door, and he slapped on the carefree grin that was Calamity’s hallmark.
“Come on in. I’m wearing pants, I swear.”
Jessa opened the door slowly, but not slowly enough—he caught the tail end of the smile she tried to smother as she crossed her arms and leaned against the frame.
“Georgia texted. She wants to meet for a drink.”
“I’ll get my boots on.”
She sighed. “Should I try to convince you to stay here, or would that be a waste of my brief time on this planet?”
“They sell beer at this place?”
“Lots of it.”
“Then I’d say you’re more likely to find me clinging to your bumper than spending a quiet evening on the couch.”
“I figured. Two drinks and you’re cut off, got it? You shouldn’t be having anything with a concussion, but the beer at McNab’s is so cheap and weak, I doubt it can do much damage.”
He beamed. “Sounds like my kind of venue. And don’t worry, I’ll take myself off somewhere, leave you and your sister to it. Might be a good chance for us to show her just how uninvolved we are.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Good plan.” Jessa didn’t look nearly as enthusiastic about that as she sounded, but she was probably nervous.
He hadn’t missed how fidgety she was when they were out in public together, how readily she introduced him as her friend. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t sting a little, but he understood it, all the same. She was rebuilding her reputation in this town, and an itinerant rodeo cowboy didn’t quite fit in.
He wouldn’t want to introduce himself to most people, either.
“You’ll be glad you brought me. I’ll make sure everyone knows we aren’t a couple,” he assured her.
She didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
“I’ll be ready in five,” he countered with a grin, but she’d already turned to walk away.
Their destination surprised him. The low-slung, tin-roofed building was way out in the county, and the parking lot full of motorcycles and elderly trucks didn’t suggest the kind of company he’d expect Jessa to keep. Although Jessa explained that Georgia’s boyfriend owned the bar, he thought the two sisters would choose somewhere else—like the historic saloon in downtown Last Stand they passed on their way out of town. Still, the too-loud country music, the too-dark interior, and the faint scent of spilled beer were all very much to his liking, so he quickly set aside his bewilderment and settled into instantly familiar surroundings.
“I see you brought a friend,” Georgia remarked by way of greeting, her tone indecipherable. She had a prime table against the wall, with a bottle of white wine chilling in a metal bucket and two waiting glasses.
“I’ve been going stir-crazy in that house, so your sister kindly let me tag along. I won’t trouble you. Just saying hello before I belly up to the bar.”
“Two drinks and not a drop more.” Jessa pointed that sexy schoolmarm finger at him, and damn if he didn’t want to suck it.
“Yes ma’am.” He tipped his straw cowboy hat to the two equally unconvinced-looking women and maneuvered through the Thursday-night crowd to the bar. He slid onto an empty stool, hooked his boot heels in the rungs, and gave the pretty blonde mixing a margarita a big, friendly smile.
She smiled right back, which is why the sudden appearance of a tall, dark-haired man behind the bar nearly had him jumping out of his skin.
“What can I get you?” he drawled with a joviality totally absent from his quick, black eyes. Caleb had the momentary sensation of staring down a pissed-off bull poised to charge—exactly the kind of bull he climbed aboard every chance he got.
“Let me guess,” he said, turning up the country-boy charm as high as it would go. “You’re Georgia’s boyfriend.”
“Cy Powell.” He stuck his hand over the bar, and Caleb shook it as firmly as he dared.
“Calamity Ross.”
“Pick your poison, Calamity.”
“Beer’ll do me fine, thank you. Got my eggs scrambled on Saturday and I’m under strict orders not to stir ’em too much.” He tapped his head.
“I saw. You look okay, considering.”
“I am, considering.” Caleb accepted the ice-cold glass of beer Cy pushed across the bar. He took out his wallet but Cy ignored him, propping his elbows beside the taps in a way that suggested their conversation might take a while.
“You’re staying with Jessa.” It wasn’t a question.
“She’s been exceptionally kind, and I’m very grateful.”
“Remind me how you know each other.”
“We met two years ago, in Hawaii. Spent a few days together and hadn’t spoken since.”
“You’re not close, then.”
Caleb shook his head.
Cy’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Jessa’s a particular character. And I’m particularly interested in who spends time with her. ”
Caleb held Cy’s gaze, his back straight, his chin high, not bothering to provide an answer when there hadn’t been a question. The air between them seemed to pulse with tension, to the extent the person beside him scraped their stool a little sideways.
Just as Caleb balled his good hand into a fist, unwilling but ready, Cy cocked his head to one side.
“You aren’t the mess-around type, are you,” he said thoughtfully, almost to himself.
Caleb didn’t like how that lodged in his chest, truth-heavy and immovable. “All I do is mess around.”
“Uh huh. Well, don’t mess around with my girlfriend’s sister.”
“I would never.”
“I know.” Cy’s smile was smug as he moved away, murmuring something to the blond bartender before disappearing into the crowd.
Caleb glowered at his glass, his thrill at getting out of the house and into a raucous bar as flat as his beer.
He didn’t know who Cy Powell thought he was or what he told himself he knew, but he was wrong. Calamity Ross was reckless and fearless, wild and free. Dutiful Caleb was long gone—and so were his teetotalling, obedient ways.
Caleb downed half the glass in one go, then motioned over the blonde.
“What do I owe you for this—and the next one?”
She smiled, a dimple appearing in one cheek. “Don’t worry, cowboy. Boss says you’re drinking on the house.”
“Asshole,” Caleb muttered, and threw back the rest.
*
“He’s harmless,” Cy decreed, lacing his fingers over his stomach and leaning back in his chair.
Jessa glanced between Cy and her sister, who was nodding sagely.
“Who’s harmless? What are we talking about?”
“Your buckaroo buddy. Calvin.”
“Caleb?”
Cy flicked his hand as if it couldn’t matter less. “He won’t give you any trouble.”
“What’s his story?” Georgia asked. The question was directed to her boyfriend, and Jessa pursed her lips in aggravation.
“He’s a farm boy. Brave, but not ill-intentioned. Where’s he from? West Virginia?”
“Tennessee,” Jessa muttered.
Cy had the gall to nod as if that were the most sensible answer in the world. “Hardcore churchy parents, right? Was he homeschooled?”
“Yes. How did you get all this from a five-minute conversation?” Jessa eyed her sister’s boyfriend warily, amazement steadily overwhelming her irritation at their tag-team scheme to evaluate her houseguest .
“He has that milk-fed, country-fried look to him. Accent is pure Appalachia. Also, his teeth.”
Jessa gaped. “His teeth?”
“Crooked on the bottom. No money for braces. But they’re in good shape, because he was raised by people who eat what they grow, don’t drink soda, and love self-discipline.”
Even Georgia seemed astonished by the depth of his analysis, and the two of them stared at Cy—until he cracked one of his roguish smiles.
“Don’t get het up on me, Jessa. Sometimes it takes one to know one.” He pressed on his lower lip, revealing subtly misaligned teeth.
“But your childhood was nothing like his,” Georgia pointed out.
“Which is why it cost me a lot of adult dollars to get this far.”
Jessa held up her palms. “As much as I’ve appreciated this glimpse into the world of interpretive dentistry, let me get something straight. Is the only reason I’m here tonight so Cy could give Caleb a psychic reading?”
“Not the only reason,” Georgia replied. “I just had to do my sisterly duty and make sure you aren’t living with an axe murderer.”
“He’s been at my house for days. He could’ve murdered me seventeen times by now.”
“I got busy. Anyway, you’re here, he’ s here, Cy says he’s not a threat so we’re all good. Top up?” Georgia raised the wine bottle.
Reflexively Jessa put her hand over her glass, mentally totaling the day’s calories and carbs—and then reminded herself she didn’t have to do that anymore. She was a normal person living a normal life, not an elite dancer eating and drinking by the numbers.
“Just a splash. I’m driving. While we’re together—and since I trust you’re both satisfied that Caleb is exactly the innocuous houseguest I told you he was—we should talk about Tana’s visit. It’s coming up quickly.”
Georgia groaned at the mention of their recently discovered relation and Cy eased to his feet.
“If my services are no longer—”
“You’re excused,” Georgia told him, and he threaded his way back to the bar.
Jessa cleared her throat, ready to move on from this ridiculous fact-finding exercise about Caleb and focus on actual, pressing issues.
Tana was their mom’s sister-in-law, and the one link that remained—for a while—between their mother and her family after she was disowned for marrying their Jewish father. This had all been news to them, pieced together through letters dug up after their father’s accident, and the added color that their maternal relatives’ absence was due to religion rather than organic disconnection had landed like an anvil in the center of their shared personal history .
The four of them still weren’t on the same page about how to move forward with this information, but they’d more or less agreed to get in touch with Tana, and about six weeks earlier had their first video call with her. They’d had a few more since, and in a couple of weeks Tana would be arriving from Amarillo with her youngest daughter, Lela, to meet her late sister-in-law’s children in person for the first time.
Jessa had taken the helm on planning for the visit, and for maintaining their relationship with Tana in general. Their father was characteristically checked out, Josie was indifferent, Amy in opposition, and although she’d confronted Tana about the ways she’d failed them and their mom, Georgia had settled into a sort of frank acceptance, open to improving family ties but not inclined to lead the effort.
Increasingly Jessa felt like the only one who cared about representing their side of the story, demonstrating how well they’d turned out, showing up for generations of Stars who’d endured scorn, abuse, and outright exclusion for the faith they refused to abandon.
Well, her sisters could complain and resist and roll their eyes all they wanted. Someone had to step up for their family’s legacy, and apparently that job fell to her.
“I thought maybe they could stay at your house, since you spend so much time at Cy’s. That’ll save them money on hotels, plus they’ll get their own bedrooms, somewhere to cook, and the backyard if they want to stretch out.”
Georgia arched a brow. “I have to give up my house for these people?”
“For our family , it would be a nice gesture. You’re never there, anyway.”
Her older sister took a long sip of wine, which Jessa decided was a yes.
“As far as entertaining them while they’re here, I thought we could do a big dinner at my house. The four of us, plus Easton and Cy. It’ll be a little cramped, but that way I can cook, and we can show them—”
“What about Caleb?”
“What about him?”
“Will he still be here?”
“No. I barely convinced him to stay this long. Wouldn’t surprise me if I woke up one morning and he was gone.”
In fact, that image had driven her from her bed before dawn every day he’d been staying with her. Like clockwork she crept out of her room and peeked between the front-window blinds, her heart in her throat until her eyes adjusted and she made out the humped figure of his truck in the driveway. Daily she sagged with relief and slunk back to her bedroom only to lie awake, asking herself what the hell was wrong with her.
“Are you two getting along?”
He ate so much she could barely keep the fridge stocked. He frequently forgot to use a coaster. He opened every cabinet in the kitchen to find a mug even though she’d told him six times they were over the stove .
And sometimes she wanted so badly to touch him, to press her cheek against his hard chest, to turn her face into his shoulder and let his strong, heavy arms insulate her from the world that her whole body ached with need.
“I don’t love having someone in my space, but he’s very considerate.”
“And are you getting along ?” Georgia raised her eyebrows suggestively.
“I told you, it’s not like that.”
“But it was like that, right?”
“Briefly. Two years ago.”
“Is he seeing someone?”
“He isn’t the seeing-someone type.”
Georgia grinned. “Even better. No reason not to enjoy each other’s company.”
“I’m sorry, is my wise, responsible older sister encouraging me to sexually exploit my concussed houseguest?”
“Only if he’s willing, obviously.”
Jessa eyed Georgia across the table. “Since when did Miss Monogamy become a champion of casual sex?”
“Since I started having lots of excellent sex myself—albeit in a strictly monogamous arrangement. I think it’d do you a lot of good.”
“I prefer to save intimacy for a committed relationship,” Jessa lied primly.
Georgia rolled her eyes. “I know. You have a checklist, you’re looking for forever, your next boyfriend has to have long-term potential. But you’re not doing anything about that, Jess. How many dates have you been on in the last two years—Three? Four?”
Jessa paused sheepishly before admitting, “Two and a half. There was the time I left through the back door because he wouldn’t stop complaining about his ex-girlfriend.”
“For a woman who’s unstoppable when she goes for what she wants, we both know that’s pretty pathetic.”
Jessa stiffened. “I have other priorities right now, including the upcoming visit from Tana, which no one except me seems to—”
“Sleep with Caleb,” Georgia commanded, pointing her near-empty wineglass. “You might not get a chance like this again.”
“Even if I was interested—which I’m not—who says I have a chance? He’s been sitting at the bar this whole time, probably scooping up numbers. Look at him, he’s talking to someone right now.” Jessa glanced across the room, noted Caleb’s flirty posture and the dark-haired woman beside him—and did a double take.
Georgia squinted in the same direction. “Wait, is that—”
But Jessa was out of her seat and surging to the bar before she could finish her sentence.
“Excuse me… If I could just… Oops, was that your foot?” Jessa’s polite interjections went largely unnoticed by McNab’s sozzled patrons, yet she uttered them nonetheless as she elbowed her way through, glaring hard at her targets. He w as smiling, she’d thrown her head back in a hearty laugh, and Jessa moved even faster.
“Well, hello there,” she said sweetly, forcefully shoving herself between Caleb and his new companion—who happened to be her twin sister, Amy.
Caleb smiled a big, oblivious greeting. “Hey, you didn’t tell me your sister was so funny. If I had any stitches after Saturday I would’ve busted ’em laughing.”
“I wasn’t expecting to bump into you here.” Jessa smiled thinly at her sister, ignoring Caleb’s compliment.
“That’s odd, because I come here almost every Thursday night.”
“Georgia and I are splitting a bottle of wine over by the window. Join us.”
“I’ll stop by in a bit. Calamity was just telling me about life on the bull-riding circuit. Did you know those fancy chaps they wear are actually required?”
“Calamity.” Jessa repeated the absurd nickname derisively under her breath. “How interesting. Can I grab you for just a second? Georgia and I are making plans for Tana’s visit.”
Amy rolled her eyes so hard Jessa wondered if she could see her own brain, but she slid off the stool and allowed herself to be led behind a clump of leather-vested motorcycle riders.
“Where’s Georgia?” Amy asked, immediately suspicious.
“Over there. I wanted to talk to you first.”
Amy crossed her arms. “I wasn’t flirting with your husband, if that’s what you were wondering.”
“Keep your voice down,” Jessa hissed.
“Oh please, I can barely hear myself think in here.”
“Cy knows everyone in this room, and if word got back to him, it would get back to Georgia, too.”
“So? I don’t understand why this is such a big deal. You did something dumb on vacation, who cares?”
“I care, okay? I care what people think of me, and I know that’s the antithesis of your whole existence, but it’s how I feel. Maybe someday I’ll be able to confess this hilarious tale after three glasses of wine on Passover and we can all kill ourselves laughing. Right now, though, I want to walk away from this—from him—without anyone knowing the full story.”
“What is the full story? You owe me that, at least.”
“Just a stupid, stupid mistake.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, momentarily closing her eyes. “I was in Hawaii, I was in between one part of my life and the next, he was hot and fun and wild, and it felt like this special, narrow window with no consequences. I’d never see anyone I met there again, including Caleb—or so I thought. No one would remember anything I said or did, what I wore, or how I looked. I’d never felt so…free.”
“That’s how I feel all the time,” Amy remarked, not unkindly.
“Well, I don’t. And it made me a little…irresponsible. ”
“Whose idea was it?”
“His, mostly, but I didn’t slow us down. Caleb was on his way to Brazil for some big bull-riding competition, and we started hatching a plan for me to go, too. We got it into our heads that if we were married, I could get a visa and travel around with him. Turns out that was totally unnecessary—Americans don’t need a visa at all—but we didn’t let facts get in the way. We applied for the marriage license on my phone, picked it up, hired the officiant at the resort and suddenly we were Mr. and Mrs. Ross.”
Jessa dragged her gaze up to meet her sister’s, bracing herself for disapproval—and instead found Amy grinning.
“I am so proud of you,” she squealed, then hugged her for the first time since… Jessa couldn’t remember when.
“It’s a huge mess.” Jessa wriggled out of her sister’s grasp.
“I know, but you need some mess in your life.”
“I really don’t.” Jessa exhaled, then allowed herself a tiny smile. “It was fun, though.”
“Nights like those always are. It’s the hangover that hurts. Look, Jess, I’ll keep your secret—but not forever. And not if you don’t get this sorted out. I don’t like hiding things from Georgia and Josie.”
Jessa nodded. “That’s fair. I’m working on it.”
“Work quickly. If you don’t, he will.” She shoved her thumb in Caleb’s direction.
As if he sensed Jessa’s sudden notice, he glanced away from the stunning blonde who’d taken Amy’s seat and met her gaze across the long room. His mouth kicked up in a smile and Jessa was back in that vast hotel ballroom, reciting her vows amidst the apologetic intrusions of the staff setting up for the actual wedding starting in two hours. The space practically hummed with snapping tablecloths and clinking cutlery, but Caleb’s attention never faltered, his hands firm and steady on hers.
She’d thought about those few minutes a lot, these last two years. How calm and confident she’d been, fully immersed in her present, her future not even a wisp of an inkling anywhere in her mind. How deeply she’d trusted him and his character, how absolutely convinced she was that he’d never hurt her.
How much she’d meant it when she said, I do .
But that was Caleb’s sorcery, she thought as she snatched her gaze away. Whether he knew it or not, he had the power to influence her like no one else she’d ever met. He pulled her off-balance, flung her up in the air, spun his spells around her until she was so disoriented and lost in the haze that she made decisions she regretted.
Like the one she’d made in that ballroom.
He wouldn’t get away with it again. Another week or so, a couple pieces of paper with their signatures, and then he—and whatever they’d never been—would be long gone.