Chapter 28
Cecily
I turned my walk into a perusal around the grounds of the ranch. There's a pool I'd love to put to use later, a spa, restaurants, and endless tiny lizards darting across the paths. I lost count at twenty.
Why am I spending time counting lizards?
Because there was a lizard of a totally different variety back in my room.
I'm nearing death just thinking about it.
About Dom. The way he tried so hard to keep me clueless, and then once I clued in, the way he blushed like he'd experienced a wardrobe malfunction.
If it hadn't been for the way he reacted, I would've made light of the situation, or reminded him it's simply blood flow.
I can't deny the knot of pressure I felt low in my belly at the sight of him.
A teeny, tiny part of me entertained the teeniest, tiniest, most fleeting thought of helping him relieve it.
But that didn't come to me until I'd stepped out the door and made my way under a palo verde tree.
So. Here I am. Sitting on a bench near the Dog House Saloon. Trying and failing not to think of Dom's bulge.
It sounds like the name of a landmark. Dom's Bulge.
I laugh to myself. I can't help it. That was funny.
"Are you smiling for the reason I think?" Dom's voice comes to me, timid. I don't think I've heard him sound that way before. It's...endearing.
Gripping the edge of the bench with my hands on either side of my leg, I lean forward and peer left, watching Dom walk up. "Yes, but only because I made myself laugh."
"That's not awesome," Dom says, walking closer. "That is, in fact, one of the worst things I could hear."
He is so embarrassed, it makes me want to hug him. But what if I hug him and it happens again? Is that a thing? Can it happen in succession? I'm assuming he tired the fellow out, but what if he only willed it away?
No touching, then.
"Not laughing at you," I clarify.
Dom stops in front of me, blocking the sun from shining in my eyes. It makes the outline of his body appear to shine, like the world's hottest, most mortified angel. "Should I ask what made you laugh?"
"That depends."
"On?"
"On whether you agree to stop feeling embarrassed and laugh with me."
"Easy for you to say. You weren't the one with a physical response to something."
I pretend to be scandalized, leaning forward and holding onto the bench on either side of my thighs. "What was it exactly? The rustic, western vibes? The framed wall art of the old cowboy in the bathtub?"
Dom narrows his eyes. "You know what it was. I'm sure your ego is feeling very stroked right now."
I raise an eyebrow.
He huffs. "I heard it."
"My ego isn't supersize now, if that's what you're implying. I didn't presume it was me who made you have a physical response."
He looks at the ground, and then bumps my sandaled foot with his sneakered one. "It was the way you ran your fingers through your hair," he admits.
I flinch. That's not at all what I was expecting. No mention of breasts, or me bending over to pick up something, or any other low-hanging fruit.
"It was pretty," he adds, like he needs to explain what he liked about the motion. "Feminine." He sighs. "I don't know. But that's what started it. And I could've dealt with it, but then you got on the bed, and, yeah."
I'm nodding, listening, absorbing everything he has to say.
"Dom," I begin, folding my hands in my lap and sitting up primly.
"I feel in this situation you are due some recompense.
So, I promise you, at some point in these next few weeks, I will get a violent lady boner for which I am in agony over. "
His mouth tugs up in a grin. "How can you promise such a thing?"
"It won't be without work on your part." I shrug. "But I volunteer as tribute."
He offers a hand. I place my palm in his, and as we're shaking, I say, "Did you use this hand to—"
"This conversation is over," Dom declares, dropping my hand. "Let's go see if your family is almost here."
We make it one minute down the path when Dom says, "You didn't tell me how you made yourself laugh."
"I was thinking Dom's Bulge sounds like a landmark, but now I'm thinking it's more of a roadside attraction."
Dom laugh-coughs. "You know, Cecily, since we're making this a joke. Bulge can be turned into the anagram bugle."
I'm rearranging the letters in my head and seeing the truth to his statement when he says, "And we both know how much you love Bugles."
Dom spotted the motor home at the back of the parking lot before me, but I recognized my sister's happy shriek before Dom registered that a woman was not, in fact, being kidnapped. "That's the sound she makes when things thrill her," I warn Dom.
He frowns. "I wonder what sound she would make if she needed help."
"One would hope she'd yell help."
He ignores me. "Sounds like they're checking in."
We wander into the reception area and find my family straddling the tall, gleaming check-in desk.
The young woman who walked us to our room an hour ago is most definitely checking out Duke.
Gross, but objectively, I get it. Growing up, all my friends wanted to come to my house because they were hoping to catch a glimpse, or maybe even a frown, from my broody older brother.
From across the room, I lock eyes with my dad.
He dips his chin in greeting. My mother, standing beside him, must recognize his motion, because she follows where he's looking.
A feeling resurfaces, niggling and insistent and so very unwelcome.
A desire for her to smile at me. To acknowledge my existence.
She doesn't, of course. She stares for a beat, then looks away.
I expected nothing more of her, and by doing so, her lack of acknowledgment doesn't hurt.
"Cecily!" my sister hollers. "Was that not the ugliest drive? Nothing between here and Phoenix but U-G-L-Y."
I give her a look, hoping to communicate her comment could be offensive to people overhearing her, and how could they not, given the yelling? She makes a face.
"But it's gorgeous in here!" she trills, hand gesturing around. She comes closer, wrapping me up and whispering in my ear, "So fugly, though, right?"
"Not pretty," I whisper back.
Grandma steps from the manager's office behind the check-in counter, her caftan swaying.
Rainbow, whose name might as well be Shadow, follows.
Mom, Dad, and Duke make their way over to us so we form a group.
Grandma looks at me and Dom, bopping her shoulders a couple times before saying, "Did you two settle in ok? "
"We did, thank you," Dom answers smoothly. I try not to smile. Any expression of mirth will be perceived as recent razzling and dazzling.
"I was speaking with Garth, the manager." Grandma indicates behind her. Garth, a man in his fifties, gives us a perfunctory wave and smile. He might be the manager here, but I'm certain Savage Grandma is the boss right now.
"We're happy to have you all here with us," he says, slipping into hospitality mode. "Please let our staff know if we can make your stay more enjoyable."
Kerrigan plucks a trifold brochure from a table and peruses it.
"Does the trail ride come with this cowboy?
" she asks, to nobody in particular. I lean over, finding there is indeed a handsome cowboy positioned on a horse in that cowboy way, hand perched on his thigh and reins loosely held in his grip.
The manager smiles knowingly, like this isn't the first time he's been asked the question. "That particular cowboy will not be leading the trail ride, but I'm sure you'll find Quint a satisfactory replacement. He's extremely knowledgeable about the area."
"Great," Kerrigan chirps. She replaces the brochure in the sleeve. When she sees me looking at her, she juts her lower lip out, whispering with certainty, "Quint is most definitely a grizzled old fart."
I do my best not to laugh, but beside me, Dom's shoulder moves.
Likely scared of more questions, Garth beats a hasty retreat into his office.
"Good job terrifying the manager," Duke says to Kerrigan.
"If he scares that easily, I don't know how much hope he has in this life."
Duke sends her a derisive look. "He is twice your age. I think he's doing just fine."
"Enough," Grandma says, and we all know when Grandma uses that tone of voice, we're teetering on thin ice. "I know Dom and Cecily have been here for an hour, but I'm ready to have a little alone time in my room. You all can do whatever you want, just don't be late for dinner."
"When is dinner? And where?" Kerrigan asks.
Rainbow answers for Grandma. "The primary restaurant on the property. Six o'clock."
At first I feel cross at how Rainbow is speaking for my grandma, but when I look closer at my grandma's face, exhaustion sits heavy in her eyes. Rainbow must know this, must understand when it is ok for her to step in.
"We'll be there at six, Grandma." I lean over, lightly kissing my grandma's cheek. It's the same cheek I've been pressing my own against during a lifetime of hugs. How can this be a last hurrah road trip for her, when she feels the same to me?
A ranch attendant hovers near the door, waiting to show Grandma to her room. Rainbow escorts her, not holding onto her exactly, but very present nonetheless.
"I wonder how Rainbow knew the details of dinner?" Kerrigan asks. "Grandma must've told her."
"The binder, Kerrigan." Duke's tone of voice gives away the eye roll he's holding back.
"Right. I should go get that from the motor home." Kerrigan sends us a quick wave and sails out the front door of the reception area.
"Mr. and Mrs. Hampton?" An employee approaches my parents. "Are you ready to see your room?"
My parents follow after, and then it's only Duke left standing with us. Not for long though, because the woman who showed us to our room strides up. Her hair is shinier, her lips slicker.