Chapter 9
Chapter 9
“ O n Sundays we rest,” Cal informed Bailey when she woke dressed to work.
“Oh,” she said, not knowing how else to respond.
“The nature of the ranch is that it doesn’t keep regular hours. I could pour my entire life into it, given the chance. It’s an easy trap for me to fall into. I’ve found I’m more productive if I purpose a day of rest, to reflect, to refuel,” he explained.
“Yes, sir,” she said. She sat at the table and resisted the urge to drum her fingers. “I don’t do well with inactivity.”
“I sensed that about you. I used to be the same, but life has a way of catching up with you, little bit. What would you like for breakfast? It’s Estralita’s day off, too.”
“Cereal is fine,” she insisted.
“I don’t do cereal, darlin’. It’s either eggs and toast or waffles and bacon,” he said.
“You…cook?” she said the word as if it were foreign. And it was, at least applied to him.
“Men can cook, Bailey. We can do anything women can do,” he said, and she laughed because he was clearly making fun of her by putting on an affronted tone.
“That’s not how I actually sound, is it?” she asked.
“You sound just fine,” he said.
“What can I do to help?” she asked.
“Don’t get in my way,” he said.
“No one sits still and does nothing as well as I do,” she said, perching on a high stool at the bar. A second later she had retrieved her notebook and began making notes. She wasn’t aware Cal had noticed until he laid his hand on the notebook in front of her.
“No work today.”
“You’re killing me, here,” she said.
“Why don’t you set the table?” he asked. She hopped eagerly off the stool and set the table the same as Estralita did when they were having company—formally, with a knife, fork, spoon, napkin and two glasses in perfect alignment, one for juice and one for water.
“You set a fancy table, Major Dunbar,” he commented.
“We lived in some remote places growing up. My mother insisted on adhering to civility. It was all she had because, as you can imagine, we were rather wild. ‘Heathens’ was her favorite word for us. We spent our days swinging from trees like the monkeys and snakes we tried to catch. But at supper we cleaned the dirt from under our nails and sat with our feet on the floor and our napkins in our laps like proper ladies.”
“Sounds like you had the best of both worlds,” he noted.
“Yes, sir,” she agreed, her tone heavy with fondness and nostalgia.
“It might not surprise you to know I grew up much the same. Cam and I were rough and ready boys, anxious to prove ourselves as heirs to the estate. But our mother insisted on proper manners indoors. No spitting, no cursing, no hats at the table, wear a proper shirt and pants, and always use please and thank you and ma’am and sir.”
“I like that,” Bailey said.
“I do, too,” Cal agreed, but his face looked a bit pinched. He thought he would have a crazy, busy houseful of children by now. The contrast of where he wanted to be and the still silence of his house was a painful reminder of how far off track his life had become.
“Is there anything else I can do?” Bailey asked before he could sink too far.
“I think that about does it,” he said.
“Am I allowed to play the piano on Sundays?” she asked.
He opened his mouth and closed it again, amending what he was about to say. “I’m going to skip over the part where I’m surprised you can play the piano and try to embrace the fact that there are no limits to what you can do. I would love to hear you play the piano.”
“I’m rusty,” she warned.
“Now’s the perfect chance to change that,” he said, waving his spoon toward the formal living room where the piano was housed. A moment later songs began to drift out to him, some he recognized and some he didn’t. His mom used to play and still did whenever she happened by the house. Hearing the sound now filled him with his own nostalgic longing. The ranch had been such a happy place once, before. And it also gave him a bit of hope. Maybe it could be so again. Bailey was right—he wasn’t dead yet.
It would be worth any amount of money to get rid of Isabel, to let go of the weight of something that had been dragging him down for far too long. He had tried, earnestly tried to make things work. Even after she cheated on him he had tried to make it work. He had wanted to go to counseling, had gone so far as to make an appointment but, like always, Isabel ground her heels and said no. She had wanted it both ways, to have her fun on the side and keep him hanging on while paying the bills. For a while that had been okay because Cal was too deeply hurt, too wounded to do anything more than hang on and hope for the best. But his marriage was over and had been for a long time. It was irrevocably broken with no hope for salvation. Maybe at long last he could finally begin to let go. And to do that, he’d have to tell his family, to call his parents and his brother, swallow his ego and pride, and admit how badly he’d failed. He glanced at the phone. Not today, but soon.
A piano was one more thing Bailey loved and didn’t own. She had taken lessons as a child, thanks to her mother’s insistence her children have some culture. Bailey had taken to it with far more ease and devotion than either of her sisters. She had enjoyed being able to make ordinary black notes on a page come alive and turn into something beautiful. But like everything in her life, it had taken a back seat to her career.
Playing soothed her, and she wondered why she didn’t do it more often. It wasn’t that owning a piano was expensive—she often saw them for free or cheap. But she moved so often it would have been a nightmare to lug around.
She was so lost in the music it came as something of a surprise when Cal sat on the bench beside her. She jumped, startled, and her hands stilled on the keys.
“Don’t stop on my account, I enjoy it,” he said sincerely.
“I didn’t hear you approach.”
“You can thank my coach for that. Soft feet,” he said, tossing her a wink.
“Do you play?” she asked.
“I know exactly one song,” he said. He set his fingers on the keys and began playing the bass part of “Heart and Soul.” Bailey joined in, playing the top part a few times until he nudged her with his elbow. “Breakfast is ready.” She followed him to the kitchen and saw the table loaded with a heaping plate of bacon and a hearty stack of waffles.
“Exactly how many people are you expecting?” she asked.
“I’ve seen you eat. I think we’ll be okay,” he said.
She laughed, and he smiled. Isabel was always watching her weight, counting calories, and cutting out life’s best tasting foods. Cal had spent most of their lives together eating alone while she picked at rabbit food. It was nice to be with someone who ate freely, who appreciated a good meal.
“Is this real maple syrup?” she asked.
“Yes. A colleague in Montana sends some every Christmas.”
“What do you send him?” she asked.
“Humidity,” he replied, and she laughed again.
They finished breakfast and cleaned up. It had been a pleasant morning, but Bailey saw the day yawning before her, an endless chasm of nothing.
“Would you like to take a ride with me?” Cal asked.
“Do you mean a tour from the owner himself?” she asked.
“I only do it for the really VIP guests,” he said.
“You know I’m not a guest,” she said. “I’m an, what’s the word, employee.”
“It doesn’t feel that way to me, Bailey. It feels like you’re an honored guest who’s come to consult on ranch business.”
“That’s nice and all, but I’m still getting paid, right?” she joked.
“Why would you need money when you have all this?” he asked, spreading his hands wide to encompass the ranch.
“There’s more truth in that than you know,” she said, surveying the ranch as she sat atop her horse beside him. “I’ve missed this, being out away from people and back to the land. It does feel a bit like a vacation.”
“Do you always tote a gun on vacation?” he asked, tapping the rifle strapped to her back.
“You could have stopped at ‘do you always tote a gun’ and the answer would still be yes. I always carry, always.”
“You must have a fascinating dating life,” he said, and she laughed.
“I had to draw a gun on a date once. He wasn’t interested in taking no for an answer,” she said.
“Did you shoot him?” Cal asked, his tone hopeful.
“Sadly, no. He had the idea I was joking, that he could wrestle the gun away from me and the fun would continue.”
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I called my dad, the only time in my entire life I’ve resorted to the Daddy card.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t actually know, but I never saw the guy again. He wasn’t at school on Monday, and his room had been cleaned out.”
Cal whistled. “That’s fatherhood done right.”
“Yes, sir,” she agreed.
“Stop calling me sir,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re testing my patience, little bit,” he said.
“I imagine so, sir,” she replied unconcernedly. “Where are you taking me?”
“To my favorite spot. You can swim, right? What am I saying, you went to the Naval Academy where they likely tried to drown you.”
“Yes, sir,” she agreed, and he smiled.
“Can I tell you a secret, Bailey?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Growing up, I was a bit of a golden child. I was six years older than my brother, taller, a slightly better athlete, went pro at football, married a beauty queen. But I’m a bit jealous of him and his life. I wish I had gone the same route before settling back down to my roots. I wish I had been a soldier.”
They reached the spot in question, a pond in the midst of dry, flat lands. He held out a hand to help her down off her horse and retained it so she could keep her balance while she took off her guns and holsters. He would have let go, but she held on to it a few beats, squeezing his hand as she spoke. “I’ve been a soldier a lot of years. I’m the daughter of a soldier, and here’s what I’ve learned, Cal. Sometimes marines are made through training and experience and sometimes they’re born already equipped with honor, integrity, loyalty, bravery, goodness, and every other thing we espouse. You fall into that second category. Your brother might have the training, but that’s all you lack.”
“That’s a very sweet thing to say, little bit.” He picked her up and tossed her headlong into the pond beside them.
“I was not ready for that,” she said, surfacing like a half-drowned kitten.
“I thought your motto was always be prepared,” he said, standing at the water’s edge with hands on hips.
“I have a new motto, one based on retaliation. Come closer and I’ll tell you in more detail,” she said.
“With an offer like that, how can I resist?” He backed up a few steps, ran at the water and did a long range cannonball beside her. When he surfaced, she was nowhere to be seen, and then his knees gave way as she pushed them from behind, forcing him to collapse like a too-tall house of cards. He ducked under the water and reached for her, but she was a slippery eel, gliding around him like the Navy fish she was.
He thought he had her once, but she surfaced ten feet away. “There aren’t alligators here, are there?” she called.
“Nah, they hang out in the eastern part of the state,” he rejoined. “Don’t tell me there’s actually something you’re afraid of. They’re just harmless reptiles.”
“I’ll put one in the plane, take you up for a spin, and see how it goes,” she offered.
“Anyone ever told you you’re a brat?” he asked, flicking a heavy splash of water in her direction.
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
“Come over here, let me tell you more,” he said.
“I’m staying over here for your benefit, sir. Swimming is the best exercise for the elderly.”
“All right, that’s it,” he said and disappeared beneath the water. After a while longer of chasing, he finally caught her. They emerged from the water, his right arm around her waist. With his left, he pushed the wet hair off her face. The atmosphere morphed immediately from lighthearted fun to expectant and tense. Cal dropped his arms and swam back a pace, allowing the water to come between them.
“We should probably get back,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” she agreed and ducked beneath the water, putting a few yards of distance between them.
He stayed where he was until she emerged onto the bank and refastened her holsters. Then it was his turn to haul himself out. He shook his hair like a dog, slid his hat on, and swung into the saddle.
They rode home in silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but it was a tiny bit sad, and neither wanted to put a name to why. “Thank you for that, Cal. It was a fun day,” Bailey said when they returned to the stable. “I’m going to go get cleaned up after I help with the horses.”
“I’ll take care of the horses,” he offered, reaching for her reins. She handed them over, being careful not to let their fingers brush.
He stayed in the barn for a long time, until long after the horses were brushed and fed and watered. The barn worked the same soothing magic on him as usual so that by the time he went inside his equilibrium was restored. He took a shower and prepped some steaks while Bailey scrubbed and prepared potatoes for baking.
They ate supper, talking and laughing like old friends, keeping things casual and light. After supper was finished and cleaned up, they retired to the porch with a glass of tea, one shared between them as had become their custom since she first arrived. Instead of sitting in separate rockers like usual, Cal sat on the loveseat glider, stretching his arm over the back of it. Bailey sat beside him, keeping a safe distance away, her legs tucked beneath her.
His long legs rocked them gently for a while as they sat in easy silence, enjoying the tropically humid, quiet night. Eventually he realized she was asleep. Her lolling head crept closer and closer to him until it landed on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and fought a wave of longing so intense it became painful to breathe. He wanted more than the life he had now, wanted more than an estranged wife who hated him so much she flaunted a string of boyfriends to torment him, wanted to be whole and healthy again. Mostly he wanted Bailey. She was so close, and yet so far out of reach. He couldn’t, wouldn’t break his vows. As long as he was still married, they still meant something to him. And it would be wholly unfair to drag her into the tangled mess his world had become. She would be one more innocent victim of a mistake he made a decade ago that was still causing harm.
But his fingers refused to accept the message his brain sent. They stole closer, his thumb easing along her shoulder. The light touch woke her. She sat up, blinking at him in confusion.
“You fell asleep,” he whispered.
“Sorry,” she replied, also in a whisper. Her eyes roamed his face, and his heart squeezed and turned over. It was both a hope and a curse to have her look at him that way. On the one hand, his attraction to her wasn’t one sided. On the other hand, it needed to remain so.
“Bailey,” he began, his tone strangled with repressed emotion.
“I know,” she said. She straightened and sat up away from him. “Nice night,” she added, surveying the darkened landscape. He didn’t respond because he couldn’t. If he opened his mouth, he was afraid of what might come out. After another moment, she stood. “Goodnight, sir.”
His continued silence probably seemed rude, but he was certain she understood. He remained on the porch a long time after she went to bed, letting the night’s peace wash over him and soothe him with its usual magic.