Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
WELL, SLAP MY ASS AND CALL ME SALLY!
Shelby
“Tell me I heard wrong and Dallas didn’t just burn down half the tents.” A breathless Josie Mae sidles up next to me in the main thoroughfare.
“You heard wrong,” I reply distractedly, my head on a swivel as I search the crowd for any sign of Dallas. One minute we were crowded in chaos, and the next he was gone.
“Thank god.” Jo sighs in relief, pulling her thick hair up with both hands and winding it into a knot.
“He only burned one down.” Where is he?
“Oh, good lord!” Her hair slips from her hands and falls back to her shoulders. “Is everybody okay?”
“I think so. Well, physically at least.” A couple of sticky-faced kids almost plow into us as we maneuver our way through the crowd.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that right after he knocked a half dozen candles onto a hay bale and rug in the photo booth, Dallas Gamble told me he’s in love with me.”
Jo’s gasp is so sharp I worry she might have sucked down a few insects.
“I know!” I throw my hands out. “I can’t make heads or tails of it, but he disappeared before I could utter a word or get an explanation. He just dropped a bomb and then scrammed. I’m looking for him now.”
“I just saw him heading out the gates at the opposite end from the parking lot. Figured he was running from the cops like he was back in high school.”
I grab her arm and pull her with me. “Well, come on then. I need to talk to him.” Understatement of the century. When Dallas made his proclamation, I was dumbfounded. And then, with Frankie and company storming through and smoke billowing around us, I lost sight of him.
I hit redial on the phone clutched in my hand as we hustle toward the back gate. All I hear is a steady beep.
“He’s not picking up, and now I’m pissed I didn’t think ahead and add his phone to my Find My app.” Not that it would make much difference right now. This many people crammed into one spot with only one measly cell tower means crappy service.
Josie Mae keeps pace beside me, our boots kicking up dust as we double-time it. “Oh, so you had foreknowledge he was gonna burn down a tent, declare his undying love, and take off running, did you?”
“Well, when you put it like that…I just don’t understand why he’d take off.
That’s not a good sign, is it?” If he was being serious, why in the hell would he drop a love bomb and not hang around to hear a response?
Honestly, it’s like ordering a pizza, paying for it, and then leaving it on the takeout counter. Who does that?
“Well, if you’re hoping he meant it, I’d say no. Is that what you’re hoping?” She gets ahead of me and turns to get a clear look at my face. The woman is gonna fall flat on her ass if she keeps walking backward like that.
“I don’t know!” I huff in frustration. “It’s all so confusing. I mean, we’ve been sleeping together, but for Dallas, sex is just sex. Same for whoever it is I am since he kissed me on the dance floor of Knockin’ Boots that night.”
She points a knowing finger in my face. “I told you that kiss knocked something loose.” Then she almost trips over a denim-clad cowboy before facing the right way again.
“It appears the something was any sense of chastity or self-preservation,” I reply in the driest tone I’ve got.
“Are you saying you’re in love with him?”
“I don’t know, Jo!” My hands flap in the air. “What’s the number one rule we always repeat every time we see him with a new woman?”
“Have fun, girl, but don’t get attached,” we recite in unison.
“He’s a good-time guy—the same kind my momma warned me about,” I add.
“But what if he’s not anymore?”
“Come on now, Jo. This isn’t one of my romance novels.”
“Yeah, he’s never really had much in common with our studs from Bridgerton, has he? Although it might be fun seeing him in a top hat and a waistcoat.”
“Please, if it’s not cotton or denim, I’m pretty sure his immune system would shut down.”
We pass by Billie from Stuffin’ the Muffin on our way through the gate, and Josie Mae stops her. “Hey, Billie. Have you seen Dallas?”
She snaps her gum and nods. “Yeah. Not ten minutes ago. Looked to be headin’ for Main Street.”
What in Sam Hill is he doing in downtown Hornville?
Around here, we refer to Hornville as “the city,” but the term is relative.
Hornville is a city in the sense that it has both a Walmart and a Jiffy Lube, as well as a handful of fast-food joints.
Not to be confused with “the big city,” Oklahoma City, however.
They’ve got more big box stores than you can shake a stick at.
We hoof it two blocks until we finally turn the corner onto Main Street, looking like a couple of meerkats as we scan the sidewalks for any sign of a flustered cowboy. No luck.
“Maybe he went for a beer,” Jo suggests. “I’d probably need a drink after lighting shit on fire. Let’s check out the Hornville Tavern.”
We forge ahead, passing a vape shop and a realty office before walking by a jeweler with a sparkling display window. We’re almost even with the hair salon next door when something catches my eye.
I stop in my tracks and back up like I’m a cartoon character getting yanked offstage by one of those giant hooks.
And then I stare. And stare some more.
“Is he in there?” Josie Mae asks, scrambling to my side and placing a hand above her eyes to look through the jeweler’s window.
Since I can’t find any intelligible words, I point frantically instead.
“What is the matter?” She frowns at me.
In response, I raise my left hand and nearly slap my palm on the glass. It only takes her a couple seconds to catch up before another insect-ingesting gasp escapes. “Oh my…”
My friend has apparently also lost the power of speech because she proceeds to point slack-jawed back and forth between the engagement ring on my finger and its identical twin in the display window. Right next to a tag with a dollar sign and waaay too many digits.
I start to hyperventilate.
Jo starts to choke.
“Y’all need some medical intervention over there?” a voice calls from the sidewalk across the street.
I turn to wave the person off so I can die in relative privacy, when I see it’s none other than Brad the fireman, one of Dallas’s dates.
“Oh, hey! Didn’t realize it was you, Shelby. You okay?” His expression is both pleased and earnest.
All I can do is nod as a grimace forms on my lips. Thankfully, Josie Mae has recovered enough to rasp, “She’s fine. She just found out her fiancé loves her a fuckuva lot more than she realized.”
Even through my stupor, I note a downturn to Brad’s expression. Was Dallas onto something and Brad was thinking he might be the Drake to my Lydia in Burning Loins: A Tale of Fire and Romance? One of my faves.
Huh. Now that I get a second look, Brad isn’t nearly as handsome or dashing as I previously thought. He’s just…a nice man on a sidewalk who likes big boobs.
“I thought you said it was costume jewelry!” Jo hisses at me, ignoring Brad.
I wave goodbye and turn back to her. “I thought it was! Dallas even said so.” Or did he? I claw back for the memory of his exact words but can’t find them.
“Well, my friend, I’d say this is definitive confirmation that the man is gone over you. Old dog, meet new trick. Hot damn!” she whoops.
“Why did he go and do a stupid thing like this?” I plead, deflating Jo’s gleeful gesturing.
“Stupid’s not the word I’d choose, in case you want my two cents.”
“What I mean is, he can’t afford to spend that kind of money on me! He needs it for the ranch. For Ryder!” Holy shit!
“Why don’t you let the man decide for himself what he wants to do with his own money?” She grabs my left hand and taps the ring. “Besides, you’re worth it.”
Tears sting my nose. Stupid hormones. I need to find that sweet, crazy, sexy, wonderful idiot. Now more than ever.
My phone rings, and I snatch it from my pocket, hoping like hell to see Dallas’s handsome face on the screen. I guess we’re far enough from the crowd to have service again. But it’s Pops. Maybe Dallas caught a ride to the ranch and left the truck for me?
“Hey, Pops. What’s up? Have you seen Dallas?”
“No, darlin’.” He sounds agitated. “I’m sorry to bug you on your day off, but I’ve got a calving heifer in the west pasture struggling something fierce.
Calf is breech, and I can’t turn it. Been doin’ this for fifty years, and I’ve met my match today.
Ridge ain’t answering his phone, and I don’t want to leave the old girl to go find him. ”
Shit. I immediately shift into work mode. “Okay, Pops, I’m in Hornville with Josie Mae, so it’ll take a hot minute, but I’ll get there. Try to keep her as calm as you can, and I’ll be there in thirty. Hang on.”
Jo is already fishing her keys out as we haul ass back toward the fair parking lot. I’ll have to find Dallas later. First, I’ve got a momma and baby to save.
“Well, that was fun.” I smile up at Pops as the cow lows beside me. Her calf teeters on skinny legs, only to collapse immediately before trying again.
“You and I have very different ideas of a good time,” he drawls, wiping the sweat from his brow and replacing his hat on his head.
“You best be sure to bill me this time, you hear?”
“We’ll see. We’re pretty much family, after all.”
He crouches to rub the calf’s head, the setting sun casting his long shadow on the field grass. “We can dispense with the ‘pretty much’ part soon, I expect.”
“Pops,” I scold.
“I always knew you two would end up together. You just needed time to get out of your own ways. I like to think love always wins.”
I peel off my gloves and drop them to the ground. “Look at you, you old softie. I don’t think it’s a lack of love that’s the sticking point, just so you know. We’ve been best friends for so long, I just don’t know if we’re meant for anything more when it comes down to it.”
“Well, just so you know, my son has known you were it for years. I reckon he’s been waitin’ for you to catch up.”
“Are we talking about the same son? Dallas Beaufort Gamble? The guy who drained the local dating pool and had to move on to the next county before he was twenty-five?”
Pops shakes his head and stands again. “I ain’t saying he was never a ladies’ man. Inherited that the good old-fashioned way.” He rocks on his boot heels and grins just like his boys.
“You lie where you stand, old man,” I drawl. “You’re the definition of a one-woman man. And Tessa was lucky to have you.”
“I was the lucky one.” His grin turns wistful. “Just like Dallas is lucky to have you.”
“I’m afraid you may be reading too much into things, Pops. I’d never ask Dallas to be anybody but the man he is.”
“And he’s the man who’s been carrying a ratty old napkin in his wallet for going on twenty years. That’s who he is, and don’t you forget it.”
My chin jerks back, and I eye him carefully. “What are you talking about?”
A crow caws in the open sky above us like an omen as he replies, “Don’t play coy with me, darlin’. I know all about it. Always have.”
My eyes narrow. “Ranchin’ not keeping you busy enough? You had to take up spying as a side gig?”
“No need. Don’t you know all parents have eyes in the backs of their heads?”
The calf struggles to his hooves again as his mom licks his head. This time, he doesn’t falter. Pops and I share a huge smile when he wobbles around in a full circle without falling.
“’Atta boy,” I coo. “Time to start your new life.”
“I could say the same to you,” Pops says, always having to get the last word in.
Needing some headspace, I take Tango back to Dallas’s house, letting the warm breeze rush over my face and whip my hair as I ride. Pops must be smoking some of Meemaw’s weed, going on about the pact napkin like that. No way has Dallas been carrying it around all this time. Why would he?
When I get to the house, I tie the horse up and take the porch steps to the door. I need a good scrub-down after working with the animals, and then I’ll ride back to the big house and get someone to bring me home later.
Nelly greets me at the door, tail and tongue wagging in tandem.
“Hey, buddy.” He vigorously sniffs my clothes. “I’ll bet you’re smelling that calf, aren’t you? You leave him alone, though, you hear me? He’s not for supper.”
Nelly ignores my instructions, snuffling away at my pant legs as I walk toward the hall.
I pause, hearing what sounds like running water.
When I get to the bedroom, sure enough, Dallas’s jeans and shirt from earlier lie strewn on the bed, along with his boxer briefs and socks. He’s home. And he’s in the shower.
Nerves immediately grip my belly in a stranglehold.
Why am I so nervous? I clamp my teeth over my bottom lip and glance back at the bed.
“Pops, you’re nuts,” I mutter as I reluctantly yank Dallas’s discarded jeans to the edge of the mattress and pull his wallet from the back pocket.
“Old man just loves stirring shit, that’s all,” I continue to talk to myself as I unfold the leather and search the various sleeves.
It doesn’t take long to find it. Tucked in the innermost pocket is the faded Knockin’ Boots napkin with our handwriting on it.
I pull it carefully from the wallet and unfold it.
The creases are deep and worn, the edges of the napkin looking almost grungy from wear.
It dawns on me then that a napkin sitting in a forgotten drawer all this time wouldn’t look anything like this.
It might be stiff and possibly faded, but certainly not shredded at the edges with time-worn creases like a favorite old road map.
My eyes go to the bathroom door. The shower just shut off, and I can hear Dallas muttering to himself on the other side.
With the utmost care, I refold the napkin and return it to its rightful place in the wallet—where I now know it’s been living since the night my best friend and I made a silly pact while drinking and thinking about all of life’s what-ifs.
Except, now it sounds like the furthest thing from silly. Now it sounds a lot like…love.