Chapter Eight
“A in’t you a little tall to be a bull rider?”
Caleb squinted up at his erstwhile client, Easton McKinney, from his crouch beside the tractor. Jessa and her sister, Josie, stood off in the shade while Easton, Josie’s boyfriend and the Lone Star Ranch’s foreman, had taken it upon himself to supervise Caleb’s work.
“I am,” Caleb agreed, turning back to the carburetor he was fitting into place. “But it works to my advantage in some ways. Keeps me disciplined, forces me to focus on the basics instead of trying to get too fancy.”
“How’d you get into it?”
“My dad was a bull rider, way back, before he met my mom. Used to put us on calves when we were young. Guess I got the taste for it.”
“He win much?”
“Some.”
“Why’d he stop?”
“Jesus.”
“Beg pardon?”
“He found Jesus,” Caleb clarified, wiping his hands on his jeans as he stood up.
“Found him, huh? Was he hiding?”
“Hell if I know.” Caleb returned Easton’s friendly smile. “Your machine’s in good shape. Fuel system looks good, spark plugs are fine. I cleaned out your carburetor, but it wasn’t too bad. If I’m honest, I can’t find any reason why this tractor should be giving you trouble. You’re sure you can’t be more specific about the problem?”
“Oh, well, I think we were looking for more of a checkup. Ain’t that right, Josie?”
She nodded as the two women joined them. “That’s right. Preventive maintenance.”
“I see,” Caleb said, although he didn’t, not really. He glanced between the three of them, convinced there was no reason for him to be out here but unable to figure out why he was. Maybe Josie wanted to check him out, since he was staying with her sister? Although since he was supposed to be gone by now, she couldn’t be that worried.
Unless… No, Jessa wouldn’t invent something to keep him from leaving. If anything, she was probably eager for him to go, especially after last night.
He studied her now, from the approving smile he bet convinced nine out of ten people to the tightly interlaced fingers that gave her away completely—at least to him.
She was nervous. Was she worried about her sister’s opinion? Easton’s? Did she think they wouldn’t like him? Or that he wouldn’t like them ?
God help him, but he was fond of that girl, he thought with a smile. He truly admired how much she cared about other people’s happiness, even if she made it her responsibility when she shouldn’t. He just wished she’d put her own joy first sometimes, too.
“How much do I owe you?” Josie asked.
“Nothing. It’s the least I can do, considering your sister’s putting me up for so long.”
“You sure seem to know what you’re talking about,” Easton said thoughtfully.
“This was my first career, before I got into the rodeo. Probably put my hands on every tractor within a thirty-mile radius of Johnson City.”
“I can think of at least three ranchers who could use someone like you, just off the top of my head. How long did you say you’re staying?”
“Two weeks, but—”
“Gimme your number.”
Caleb balked. A favor was one thing—charging people for work he hadn’t done in years was another.
“I’m not really in the trade anymore. I don’t have my tools or nothing like that.”
Easton peered at him from beneath the brim of his straw cowboy hat. “I’m trying to get you paid, brother. You got something else to do with yourself these two weeks?”
“No,” he said quickly, all too aware of Jessa’ s keen attention.
Easton passed over his phone. “Put your details in there.”
Caleb looked down at the contact, already half-filled as Caleb Tractor . He suppressed a sigh, retyped the first word as Calamity —and then changed it back.
Caleb had a marketable skill. He was competent, careful, and dependable.
Calamity was good for nothing but chaos.
“Thanks again for coming out,” Easton said as he took back his phone. “I expect you’ll have a few more customers lined up soon.”
Easton wasn’t wrong—the first text from one of his contacts arrived twenty minutes later, just as Caleb put his truck into Park outside the dance studio.
“You know this guy?” He held it up so Jessa could read the name on the screen.
She smiled. “He’s a sweetheart. Old friend of my dad’s. Whatever equipment he’s got is probably ancient, though, and who knows what kind of do-it-yourself botch job he’s inflicted on it.”
“Farmers in the Appalachian foothills don’t tend to be on the cutting edge of technology, so I’m used to that. As long as it ain’t smashed to pieces, I can patch it up and make it run.”
“Did you like fixing tractors?” she asked as they climbed out of the car.
“Very much. Just didn’t like the life wrapped around it.”
“Your parents’ farm,” she supplied, unlocking the door and flicking on the first set of lights in the hallway.
“And the church, and the marriage—all of it. Felt like walking a tightrope to nowhere. Any wrong step landed me flat on my face in front of everyone, but at the same time I couldn’t see what I was moving toward, or why I should care. So, I decided to jump off.”
He followed her to the office, then propped his good shoulder on the doorframe and crossed his arms. She moved behind her desk but didn’t sit down, peering at him thoughtfully instead.
“I know I put too much energy into other people’s opinions, but I don’t think I could ever just shut it off. Not like you did.”
“You don’t have to, at least not to that extent. Start small.”
“Like what?”
“Remember that parent who called the other night to complain that you’d overcharged her? And it turned out she was reading the statement wrong, but you gave her a credit anyway?”
Jessa nodded, looking sheepish.
“You didn’t have to do that. You should’ve left it square and hung up. Even better, don’t answer the phone after hours.”
“But she was a customer, and they pay my bills. I want them to be happy.”
“End result is she’s not paying you, and now she knows she can kick up a fuss and get what she wants.”
“I guess. I just hate disappointing anyone.”
“I’ve been disappointing people my whole life. It happens. Doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
She shrugged. “Rationally I know that, but it’s tough for me to accept. I grew up as the twin of a hell-raiser. Amy got so much attention for being bad, I thought I could get more for being perfect.”
“Did it work?”
“Not once.”
“So forget it. Don’t be perfect. Be you.”
“Easier said than done,” she muttered, then looked up at him with renewed curiosity. “Was it hard for you to change it all up? Go from such a regimented world to one that was lawless?”
He discarded the flippant reply about being born for adventure that immediately leapt into his mouth. Jessa was leveling with him, and he owed her as much.
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he told her honestly, admitting that fact out loud for the first time. “My education sucks, I’d never left Eastern Tennessee, and part of me still believed my road to damnation got shorter with every decision I made. But I wanted freedom more than I wanted happiness, and eventually I found both.”
“Do you miss your parents?”
Caleb looked down at the toe of his boot, which he shuffled against a scratch on the linoleum floor. She was coming at him with all the big stuff, today.
He raised his gaze to hers again. She watched him patiently, her expression wide open, and he decided to be brave. He decided to trust her with the truth.
“No, Jessa, I don’t. They hurt me so badly, in ways I didn’t even understand until I was gone. I know you got your squabbles with your sisters, but they love you no matter what. My parents’ love was conditional. The second I stopped being who they wanted, I became shameful. An embarrassment. Makes me wonder if they ever loved who I was, or if it was always tied to what I did.”
He braced himself for her response. For the inevitable assurances that of course they loved him. The encouragement to mend fences and forgive. Everything he’d said to himself over and over again until he’d finally given himself permission to let his heart break. Then he’d gathered up its jagged pieces, taped them back together, and swore never to let anyone near that fragile, damaged organ again.
But Jessa didn’t do any of that. She didn’t speak a word. Instead, she rounded the desk, crossed the room, and wrapped her arms around his chest, her cheek pressed dangerously near to that shabby mess of valves that insisted on beating. Too easily his arms came around her shoulders, and when she squeezed tightly, so did he.
“I think you’re wild and ridiculous and super fantastic.” The words were muffled against his T-shirt and he burst out laughing, disarmed yet again by this strange, stern, sexy woman.
“Thank you. I think.”
“You’re welcome. And I’m sorry your parents won’t see how amazing you are. I do. I knew it the moment we met.”
“I appreciate that, Jessa. I really do.” He wasn’t sure how the words had escaped a throat that felt too tight to breathe, but there they were, as real as the ones she’d just spoken.
She pulled out of his arms, but not before he saw the way her gaze lingered on his mouth, or realized she’d subtly pressed against him even harder before wrenching herself away.
They could lie to themselves about keeping this friendly all dang day. She wanted him, and he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything.
She was behind the desk again, unearthing a sheet of lined paper densely packed with her handwriting that she handed over to him.
“If you don’t mind, I put together a list of errands you could take care of while I’m teaching this afternoon. Nothing major. The drug store, a couple of groceries, a quick run to the post office. I’ll handle the dancewear shop.”
He squinted at the list. “What the hell is a garbanzo bean?”
“They come in a can. You’ll find it.”
“I can’t even pronounce this one.” He pointed to a word that started with q .
“Quinoa. It’s a grain. Like rice, but better. Don’t worry if you can’t find everything. Just do your best.”
The sounds of students filtering through the front door halted his long list of objections, and he pocketed the sheet of paper while Jessa edged past him.
“I’ll be back at six o’clock to fetch you,” he told her.
Her too-bright smile was already in place. “See you then!”
Caleb sidled past a line of little girls in pink leotards to get to his truck, pausing to exchange nodded greetings with some of the parents he’d met. He drove first to the post office, then the drug store. His Southern upbringing meant he was physically incapable of executing a transaction without several minutes of small talk which, combined with the overall friendliness of the denizens of Last Stand, meant it took him an awfully long time to complete those two stops and make his way to the grocery store.
When he got there, he marveled at the size of the lot, the lengths of the shelves, and the variety of the offerings. Last Stand was a small town, but everything really was bigger in Texas.
Not that he spent a lot of time in any grocery stores, anywhere. He took a meal-by-meal approach to the day. Planning on Monday what he’d want on Friday ran counter to his whole existence.
And yet, he didn’t hate it, he considered as he strolled through the aisles, slowly ticking off Jessa’s list. This town had grown on him these last couple weeks. It’d make a good base for a bull rider. Close to the big rodeos in Fort Worth and Houston, and an easy drive to others in central Texas or Oklahoma. He could even build a list of tractor-repair clients to tide him over through the losing streaks.
No, he didn’t hate that idea one bit.
Lots of bull riders commuted to somewhere they called their own—not like him, with a borrowed room in a friend’s house in Knoxville he occupied maybe two months a year. With this sponsorship deal on the horizon, maybe he could afford something bigger. A real home, not just four walls to store his stuff. Friends, neighbors. A community.
Couldn’t be here, though, he reminded himself as he plucked a bag of Jessa’s requested kale chips from the shelf with a grimace. Keeping their hands to themselves for the next two weeks felt less likely by the hour—no way could he survive living in the same town. She was clear she only wanted something long-term, and he…
Well, he maybe didn’t hate that, either.
He pressed his hand to his forehead, then his cheeks. Cool and dry—no fever. He was well over his concussion, too.
No good explanation whatsoever for these bonkers thoughts bouncing around his brain.
He was a rambler, a runner, a restless soul who had to roll to breathe. He did not entertain permanency, not for one solitary second.
Except right now, he did .
Because of Jessa.
She’d reminded him how it felt to have somewhere to return to every night, a place that was safe and quiet and comfortable. That dinner was better eaten off a plate at a table than out of a paper bag on the edge of a creaky bed.
And that having someone in your life who cared, even when things between you weren’t perfect, was worth more than a hundred flirty, forgettable nights in anonymous honky-tonks.
Try though he might, he didn’t hate this sticking-around notion. Didn’t hate it at all.
Who said he had to? he thought defiantly, shoving the cart into motion with renewed vigor. People changed, and he could, too. Standing still didn’t make him vulnerable. He could find a nice little town like Last Stand, carve out his place in it, and still be the carefree, impenetrable rodeo cowboy he already was. He’d just have a roof over his head and a few more friends, that’s all. Didn’t mean he couldn’t stay single. Didn’t mean he had to fall in love.
“No risk of that here,” he muttered, warily turning down the organics aisle. Jessa couldn’t be clearer that a wayward bull rider did not meet the bar for her future partner—and that was fine.
At least it used to be.
Still, he didn’t blame her. Now more than ever he understood why she was so intent on carefully arranging the bricks that would provide the foundation for the rest of her life. Last Stand was her home, her community, her family. Of course she wanted to stake her claim and find her spot.
He couldn’t believe he felt this way, but he wouldn’t mind a spot of his own, too.
“You okay there? You look confused.” A woman in her fifties pulled her cart up alongside his, her smile kind and helpful.
“Confused is the word, ma’am. Do you have any idea where I can find keen… Quinn… This stuff.” He held out the list and pointed.
“Quinoa,” she exclaimed. “I sure do. It’ll be right down the end there, in a clear bag with a teal top. Looks like seeds.”
He gave her his most charming, sweet-Southern-boy grin. “Thank goodness you came by, or I might’ve had to pitch a tent and live here, it was taking me that long.”
“No problem whatsoever. Next time, get your girlfriend to draw you a map before she sends you scouting for health foods.” She winked.
The wattage behind his smile dimmed, but he managed to hold it in place.
“I’ll do that. Thank you, ma’am.”
They set off in opposite directions and, sure enough, Caleb found the stupid quinoa. He peered through the plastic window at Jessa’s gussied-up, overpriced rice, and he couldn’t help but smile.
His fussy ballerina, thunder and lightning tied up in pink satin ribbons.
She wanted someone stable and rooted, and he respected that. Even had an inkling to plant a seed or two of his own. But for now, they had two weeks together, and with his new outlook, this fresh promise of a future he never thought he’d want, he was confident they could recapture what they’d had in Hawaii and walk away unscathed.
This time they’d do it right. No ambiguity, no optimism, no hard feelings. They had a deadline. They almost had a divorce. Two weeks of pure physical fulfilment before they said goodbye for real and got on with the rest of their lives.
They could do this. He could do this. If anything, he’d prove to himself that hankering for a place to call home didn’t mean he’d become a different person. He could have a ballerina in his bed and be no worse for wear. He could give Jessa his body and keep his heart far out of reach.
Caleb beamed. Now this was a plan.
He tossed the quinoa in the cart and pushed it to the next aisle, whistling as he went.
“It’ll be a three-course dinner, plus nibbles before we sit down. We’re set for a heat wave while they’re here, so I was thinking about a caprese salad for the starter, salmon with rice and asparagus for the main, and a panna cotta dessert. Although not everyone likes fish— maybe I should do a chicken curry with a light, aromatic sauce. Not too creamy. That doesn’t cohere with the panna cotta, though. What do you all think?”
Jessa looked up from her notebook to discover her three sisters in varying states of total disinterest. Georgia was scrolling through her phone, Josie was engrossed in fishing a lemon seed out of her water with a spoon, and Amy was so focused on peeling the label off her beer bottle that she’d gone cross-eyed.
Jessa slapped her notebook on the restaurant table, jerking them all to attention.
“Great idea,” Georgia said hurriedly.
“Love it,” Josie added.
Amy raised the bottle to her lips, raising her eyebrows in silent agreement.
Jessa crossed her arms, feeling that petulant, whiny version of herself that she hated, that only her sisters could trigger, pushing to the surface. She exhaled through her nose, forcing her voice down from spoiled brat to justifiably irritated woman.
“I’m sorry if this is boring you, but it’s important. Tana and Lela will be here next week, and we need to be ready.”
“And we will be, thanks to you.” Georgia smiled encouragingly.
Jessa narrowed her eyes, resisting her sister’s attempt to butter her up. “Not if I don’t get some input from my beloved sisters, never mind some actual help. I can’t do all of this by myself.”
“You sort of already have,” Amy pointed out.
“Not by choice,” she shot back.
“To be fair, the three of us said at the beginning that we’d be fine with a couple of restaurant reservations and otherwise playing it by ear. The point is just to get to know them. They’re not visiting royalty,” Josie said.
“Is that how you’d like Tana to describe it to the rest of the family when she gets back to Amarillo? That they traveled all this way, after all this time, and Caroline’s daughters played it by ear ?” Jessa put the phrase in finger quotes.
“I don’t give a flying—”
Josie’s boot thumped against the leg of Amy’s chair before she could finish her sentence.
“I guess we’re less worried about what they think of us, but since it’s important to you, we’ll do better. We know you want to make a good impression, for Dad’s sake,” Josie soothed, her tone conciliatory.
“For all our sake—Dad’s, Mom’s, the five generations of Stars they spat on when they cut Mom off.”
Georgia nodded patiently. “It matters to you, so it matters to us. What can we do to help?”
Jessa threw up her hands. “Did no one read the sign-up sheet I circulated?”
They were in the middle of the lunch rush at the popular downtown cantina, but Jessa could’ ve sworn she heard crickets.
“I’ll send it again. The most critical decisions at this point are the agenda for the visit and the menu for the dinner at my house. I sent a poll to the group chat, which of course no one noticed, so I’ll send it again. All you have to do is vote. You can do it right now. Okay?”
“Okay,” her sisters responded in unison, eagerly taking up their phones.
While she waited, Jessa considered the other urgent item—the one she didn’t want to broach until she had to.
Which she guessed was now.
“Also, Caleb will need somewhere to stay during the dinner. Since Tana and Lela are staying at Georgia’s house in town—”
“They are?” the sister in question asked.
“—and the ranch is such a drive, Amy, it makes the most sense to stash him at your place.”
“Oh, that pretty cowboy can stay the whole night if he wants.” Amy smirked.
“Not funny,” Jessa managed through gritted teeth, the words surfing on a white-hot wave of jealous anger.
“So you are sleeping with him.” Amy leaned forward, eyes glittering, and Jessa’s heart sank as she realized she’d fallen straight into a trap.
“No, I’m not.”
“But you’re thinking about it,” Georgia surmised.
Jessa knew her ears were probably bright red. “Let me guess, Cy is teaching you telepathy.”
“That’s a yes,” Josie concluded, and the three of them had the audacity to exchange high fives.
“Honestly, I don’t know what’s taken you so long. He’s gorgeous, he’s your biggest fan, and he’s right there in your house .” Josie almost sounded exasperated.
“What do you mean, he’s my biggest fan?”
“Easton told me. When he was out at the ranch the other day, everything was Jessa this, Jessa that, your house, the studio, blah blah blah. He’s obsessed with you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Jessa muttered even as her traitorous heart beat a little faster.
“But you know he likes you,” Georgia pushed.
Jessa hesitated. “He’s been very…nice to me.”
And the award for understatement of the year goes to…
Nice was the limpest word in the English language to describe how Caleb had been acting since they’d agreed for him to stay an extra two weeks. In an abrupt about-face from the stilted atmosphere before his doctor’s appointment, he’d been attentive, courteous, engaged, and so constantly helpful that she’d almost run out of things for him to do.
She liked having him around the studio, and on the few occasions he’d gone out to work on a tractor, she liked knowing he’d be there when she got home. Their chilly politeness had thawed, giving way to warm companionship that got better by the day. He teased and cajoled her constantly, but she enjoyed it, and couldn’t help but loosen up in his presence.
Well, her grip on perfection loosened a little. Her sex drive, on the other hand, was wound so tightly she was surprised she hadn’t exploded.
She shifted in her seat, her cheeks warming at the thought. She knew he felt it too, considering she could practically taste it in their hundred tiny touches a day. Her hand on his arm to make a point over breakfast. His palm at her waist as he eased past her in the hallway. The way their fingers brushed and lingered whenever they passed anything from one to the other, their gazes meeting, the air around them seeming to thicken with sexual tension.
Jessa cleared her throat. “Anyway, he’s leaving soon.”
“Exactly. Sleep with him,” Josie commanded.
“But—”
“You really should sleep with him,” Georgia chimed in.
Amy nodded vigorously. “He’s beautiful, he’s willing, and he’s not a scumbag.”
“Way to set the bar high, Ames.” Jessa rolled her eyes.
“Do it,” Josie urged. “There’s no downside.”
Unless I fall in love with him.
Jessa gripped the edge of the table, trying to anchor herself against the earthquake erupting beneath her.
Of course she wouldn’t fall in love with him, she told herself sternly. She’d never been in love with anyone. The very idea of it was so remote, she could hardly imagine what it might feel like. Even watching Josie and Georgia find their better halves hadn’t brought it any closer to reality. Love was for other people, not her. Not anytime soon.
Except when she thought about Caleb, about his arms warm and heavy around her, or his unblinking, earnest expression when he told her something important, love felt real enough to reach out and grab.
“What’s wrong?” Amy asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing,” Jessa said quickly. Then she repeated it more firmly, mostly for her own benefit. “Nothing.”
She was strong. She was in control. She’d been in the corps de ballet of one of the best companies in the world, and she’d gotten there through constant self-denial, an iron will, and sheer determination. She could absolutely have sex with a scruffy, transient cowboy and then never see him again.
“So you’ll do it?” Georgia asked.
Jessa must’ve inhaled a second too long, because her sisters commanded in unison, “Sleep with him.”
The entire restaurant fell silent.
For one horrible, endless moment Jessa was frozen, ice-cold from head to toe, waiting for the room to dissolve into a hiss of behind-the-hand whispers and disapproving glares. Everything she’d built, the persona she’d so carefully constructed, about to vanish in one pointless, collectively uncouth exhortation from her pain-in-the-ass sisters.
Then Amy started laughing. Josie joined in, and so did Georgia. A good-natured snigger sounded from the table behind her. She spotted the sympathetic smile of an older couple on the other side of the room, and then the bustling din they’d walked into was restored, flowing neatly on past the Star sisters’ brief interruption.
“Sorry, majority rules,” Josie informed her.
“My sex life is not a democracy.”
“Do you need condoms? I have some in my bag,” Amy offered.
“Delightful though this conversation has been, I’m leaving. I’ll recirculate the sign-up sheet, and if I don’t get any volunteers, I’ll assign the roles myself.” She shot each of them what she hoped was a threatening scowl as she stood up, but they all simply smiled.
“If your house is rocking, we won’t come knocking,” Georgia promised.
Josie grinned. “Blow his mind, girl.”
“And his—”
“Goodbye,” Jessa said crisply, cutting Amy off. She reached for her wallet, decided her sisters could pick up her tab, and studiously avoided all eye contact as she walked out.
The studio was empty when she got there. Caleb was out in the county somewhere, attending to his growing list of faulty tractors. For the amount of space he occupied in her thoughts, though, he might as well have been standing right next to her.
No matter how she attempted to fill the hour before her first class, her vision kept blurring as her mind insisted on circling back to him. Her sisters hadn’t said anything she hadn’t whispered to herself in the deep, dark, needy hours of the night, but the words were louder now, her fantasies taking on the hard dimensions of possibility.
And even the glimmer of that possibility made her breathless. She’d spent the last two years dipping into her memories of their time in Hawaii to complement the soft hum of her vibrator. That first moment she’d opened her legs and felt his bulk settle on top of her. The jostling, laughing maneuvering in the shower that ended with her on her knees, his fingers in her wet hair, his breaths rough and gasping. Their last evening, coming in from the beach, his eyes hooded and serious as he’d reached beneath her cover-up and slid her bikini bottoms down her thighs, easing her back onto the bed, his hands pushing her knees apart as he knelt and—
Someone rapped sharply on the studio door. Jessa shot to her feet, her face as hot as asphalt in August despite the generous air-conditioning.
At the door she found a confused grandparent who’d unwittingly shown up early, and the student’s arrival was exactly the distraction she needed. For the next several hours she managed to focus almost entirely on her classes, faltering only toward the end of the day when she glanced out a window and saw his truck in the parking lot. He was here, somewhere in the building—but she sidelined that tingling awareness and got back to work.
Finally, she saw the last student into their parent’s hands, locked the door, and turned to the empty corridor. She could hear the faint squeak of a ladder. Caleb must be in the smallest of the three practice spaces, probably replacing that blinking lightbulb.
She took a big breath, reminded herself she could do this, and marched forward, already practicing the frank, no-strings proposal she’d present for his consideration.
“There you are. Look, I want to discuss—”
The words died on her lips, and so it seemed did some of her brain cells, because the way his arms stretched overhead tugged up the bottom of his shirt to reveal his stomach was the only thing she seemed capable of processing.
He put the old bulb on the top of the ladder and smiled down at her. “Hey, Jessa. Did you have a good day?”
“Fine,” she managed tightly. “You?”
“Good. Real good. I went out to see that guy I met in the hardware store. He’s got some nice equipment, way fancier than what he needs, but he couldn’t…”
His words ceased to make sense as he reached up again to screw in the new bulb, but she nodded anyway. This line of work seemed to make him happy, and on that basis, she’d pretend to care about the finer points of tractor repair as long as necessary.
Her cell phone jingled, and she pulled it out of the pocket of the leggings she wore to teach. The number had an Austin area code .
“Hello?”
“Hi, is that Jessa Star?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Kat Grainger, from the Larson Academy.”
Jessa’s heart rate tripled at the name of the prestigious ballet school’s esteemed director. “Yes, hi, how are you?”
“Is this a good time to talk?”
“Of course. I’m glad to hear from you so soon after Fern’s audition.” Jessa glanced around for someplace to sit, found nothing, and began to pace in a wide circle. Caleb watched her from the top of the ladder, his expression somewhere between curiosity and concern.
“Fern?” Kat echoed blankly. “Right, the girl you sent over. She’s not bad. Lots of raw talent, but she’s awfully rough around the edges.”
Jessa pressed her hand against her stomach, each word landing like a hammer blow meant specifically for her. She knew she wasn’t good enough to teach Fern. She should’ve sent her to Larson sooner, encouraged her earlier. But she’d been selfish and stupid and now her best student would pay the price.
“She’s come really far since I met her, but I’m still early in my teaching career. I know in the right environment, with better instruction, a real choreographer—”
“We’d like her to come for a week of our summer intensive. Let’s see how she handles the pace, and then we’ ll make a decision.”
Jessa sagged against the wall, peripherally registering that Caleb scrambled down the ladder and came to her side.
“That’s great news. I know she can handle it. She’ll be fantastic.”
“Sure,” Kat said loosely. “Now let’s talk about you.”
“Me?”
“The dance community in this part of the world is pretty small, so I’m not sure how I missed the news that Last Stand imported a teacher straight from Lincoln Center.”
Jessa chewed her lower lip, unsure how to respond. She hadn’t exactly hidden from the Texas Triangle’s unofficial ballet network, but she hadn’t elbowed her way back in, either. She wanted to see if the Star School took off first and saw no need to alert everyone to what might be a giant failure.
Thankfully Kat continued, “I found some of your performances online. Very impressive. What brought you back to Texas?”
“Injury.”
“Sorry to hear that. How’re you doing with it now?”
“Oh, it’s fine. Completely healed.”
“Great, because I want to ask whether you’d consider dancing again.”
Jessa blinked, unsure she’d heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”
“I know it might seem a little brazen but hear me out. Those short pieces you did in New York a few years ago, the ones based on Marilyn Stanton’s poems? That style is very similar to something I’m working on. It’s an experimental series, being staged here in Austin.”
Jessa was shaking her head as Kat added, “I know you have obligations at your studio, and I’d be more than happy to arrange for one of our Larson instructors to pick up your classes if necessary. It’ll be a compact rehearsal schedule, for a performance in December. I’m auditioning dancers next week, and I’d love for you to come.”
“I really appreciate you thinking of me, but I’m retired.”
“Do me a favor—don’t make a decision right now. Think it over.”
“Again, I’m not—”
“You’re an exceptional dancer, Jessa, and I think you’d shine in these pieces. Sleep on it and come back to me. Great talking to you—let’s speak tomorrow. Bye.”
“Bye,” Jessa echoed faintly, but the line was already dead. She lowered her phone and stared bewilderedly at the screen, astonished at the turn that call had taken.
“What’s the story?”
Jessa glanced up at Caleb, so grateful for his presence she had to stop herself from collapsing into his arms.
“That was the head of the Larson Academy. They’re going to give Fern a trial. Also, she wants me to audition for a ballet.”
“Is that something you want to do?” he asked carefully.
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I do miss dancing—I miss it a lot. But I’m out of shape and out of practice. I’d embarrass myself. No,” she decided aloud.
He tilted his head, his brows drawn together. Jessa sighed.
“Go on, say whatever it is you’re thinking.”
“Just that there’s no harm in trying, is there?”
“Other than humiliating myself, you mean?”
“Let’s be real. Worst-case scenario is you get a polite no-thanks and move on.”
“Worst-case scenario is that the story of how Jessa, the sad has-been, flopped around on stage circulates from Port Arthur to Fort Worth. I can’t risk it.”
“If that did happen—which it won’t—that’d say more about them doing the sneering than you.”
“That’s a nice story for Sunday school, but this is real life, and I’m allowed to care about what people think of me.”
“You’re also allowed not to,” he pointed out.
“But I do care.”
“Then stop.” He threw up his hands. “You’re allowed to do what you love even if it’s not perfect, and you’re allowed to do it for yourself and no one else. It’s your life, and there’s no point in letting other people’s imaginary opinions get in your way.”
“When I step on that stage, they won’t be imaginary.”
“And they’ll still mean nothing. Take it from someone who knows—make yourself happy first. Because all those invisible people you’re dancing for will never clap loud enough for you to hear.”
Fear tightened her jaw, knotted her stomach, but something in his face gave her the courage to admit, “I’m scared I won’t be good enough.”
“Good enough for who?”
She could only shake her head, unable to pick out a single face in the darkened seats that filled her mind. Row after row of faceless critics, arms crossed impatiently, the theater still and silent except for their muttered disapproval as they watched her fall short. Watched her screw up. Watched her fail.
Caleb yanked her against him, one arm encircling her waist, his other hand rising to her cheek as his eyes sought hers urgently, his forehead creased with dismay.
“I’ll clap for you, Jessa. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I’ll cheer so goddamn loud they’ll have to drag me out to stop me.”
She whispered his name on a sob, wishing it were true, wanting so desperately for this—for them—to be a possibility. Then she kissed him like it was, like this could happen, like this was more than the fleeting, finite moment their wildly different paths crossed.
His kiss was intense, insistent, and so was the need thrumming through her body, sending her palms to his cheeks and dragging him closer as she arched against him. He tightened his grip on her waist and in one smooth movement they were both on the gleaming, sprung floor of the studio, his hand cradling the back of her head, her leg wrapped around his thigh.
They moved quickly, without speaking, their mingled panting and faint moans echoing off the bare walls. Her fingers were in his hair, his thumb was on her nipple. She hiked up his shirt and reached for his belt, and he tugged down her leggings and touched her aching core.
It was frantic, sloppy, nothing like those slow, sultry nights in Hawaii, but Jessa didn’t care. She wanted him, she needed him, and she clawed at him like a feral cat, certain that one more second without him inside her might be the end of her life as she knew it.
“I have a condom,” he said hoarsely as he rolled onto his hip and fished for his wallet.
Jessa fought to bring her temper under control. Protection was important. She had to be patient. But she swore to God, if he didn’t get that packet open right this second, she would rip it out of his hands and do it herself.
Watching him roll that latex sheath over the cock that was even thicker and prettier than she’d remembered was abject torture. Her hands itched to touch it, to touch him, but she busied herself shedding her leggings and lay back, her knees wide.
Which is why his apologetic glance almost made her scream.
“Not like that, sweetheart. Not with my shoulder, not on this hard floor. ”
“Then what do you propose?” she snapped icily.
He laughed, rich and resonant. “Time to cowgirl up. See if you can get your eight seconds.”
He took off his hat and stretched out on his back, one arm folded behind his head. He’d shoved his jeans down to his knees but was otherwise fully dressed, and his erection stood up like a monument to everything wild and untamable.
“If you insist,” she said primly, and climbed aboard.
Weeks of tension, of looking and not touching, of being close enough to smell him yet feeling further than when they’d been on separate continents coiled into a searing swell of desire as she lowered herself on top of him. He was big and hard, and she savored the stretch in places that had been empty for so long—one between her legs, and one on the left side of her chest.
As soon as she settled over him, she realized that his quip about an eight-second ride wasn’t all that far-fetched. All those days and nights of silent foreplay and secret fantasies had pushed her right up against the edge. She willed herself back, took deep breaths, glanced around the studio because she knew one more look at Caleb’s heavy-lidded eyes and worshipful expression would end her. She rocked her hips as little as she dared, desperate to prolong the sweet pressure, studying the ceiling, the floor, and then turning her head toward the wall of mirrors on the opposite side of the room.
Her attention froze, transfixed by what she saw, compulsively cataloging her imperfections exactly as she’d been taught to do. A long afternoon of teaching had loosened her hair from its bun, and the escaped strands were wavy and frizzy from the late-summer humidity. She wore no makeup, the lighting made her face sallow and puffy, and her slightly hunched-forward posture created a roll around her stomach that would’ve gotten her fired two years ago.
Yet the man beneath her, all six feet and two inches of long-boned muscle and honey-golden hair, was the most beautiful, the most amazing, the most perfect person she’d ever seen.
And he was looking at her like she was perfect, too.
Caleb’s gaze found hers in the mirror, as warm and shimmering blue as the ocean they’d swam in together. He smiled, slowly, earnestly, that single motion so packed full of adoration and encouragement that Jessa lost herself completely.
She squeezed her eyes shut and arched her back as her orgasm ripped through her, so sudden and intense she was disoriented. Then Caleb’s hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he thrust deeper and she felt the throb of his release. His touch was so grounding, at once comforting and exhilarating, and she lurched forward, groping for him through her ecstasy.
He sat up and caught her and held her tight. She let her head rest on his shoulder as her body twitched with declining pleasure. He smoothed her hair, stroked her cheek, and murmured her name in his foothills drawl until it sounded more like a prayer than the five letters she’d lived her life beneath.
After a minute or two he gently eased her off, and she hiked up her leggings while he disposed of the condom, wisely removing the whole garbage bag from the bin.
“I’ll just take this out,” he told her almost bashfully. “Don’t want the students finding it tomorrow.”
She smiled, and then let her mouth flatten when he left the room, and she was alone with her reflection.
Sex with Caleb was spectacular. She felt tingly and relaxed and fulfilled. But this was the hard part—the part she’d promised herself she could handle.
The part where nothing else between them changed. The part where this was temporary, they were getting divorced, and would say goodbye without a scrap of hesitation.
“Done,” he announced when he returned, moving swiftly to take her by the waist and pull her into his chest.
“Listen, Jessa—”
“It’s okay,” she rushed to tell him. “What you said about cheering for me wherever I went? I know you didn’t mean it like that.”
He looked like he wanted to say something, something she didn’t want to hear, so she stepped out of his grip and turned away.
“It’s good we got that out of our systems. Maybe we can do it again. Before you leave.”
“I’d like that. Very much.”
“Then I’m sure it can be arranged. Anyway, I’m starving. Let’s close up and head home.”
“Aren’t you going to call that lady back?”
“What lady?”
“From the dance school. Tell her you want to audition.”
“Oh, no, I don’t…” Jessa trailed off, looking past him at the mirror. At her glowing, sex-flushed cheeks and tousled hair. At a woman who’d just done something risky and impulsive and totally out of character, and felt so much better for it.
Caleb was right. She was allowed to put her own happiness first. To close her eyes and take a leap, and not care who saw her fall.
She picked up her phone from the floor and tapped the number at the top of her calls list. Kat answered on the first ring.
“Is it a yes?” she said by way of greeting.
“It’s a yes,” Jessa confirmed.
“Awesome,” Kat exclaimed. They went over the logistics, Kat told her more about the concept, and Jessa hung up feeling more excited about dancing than she had in years.
Caleb had smiled at her the whole time she was on the phone. “Happier now?”
“Much. For multiple reasons, and you get credit for all of them.”
“Good. I’ll put this ladder away and we can get out of here. ”
“Don’t forget your—what is this?” Jessa picked up his straw cowboy hat from the floor and rotated it in her hands, staring at the white feather stuck in the brim.
“I found that. Pretty, ain’t it?”
“What bird is it from?”
“I don’t know. Crane, maybe. Or a heron.”
Or a swan.
She thrust the hat toward him like it was on fire, struggling to keep her expression neutral. It was probably from some overgrown pigeon, common and normal and boring. This wasn’t an omen. Totally unrelated to the swan maiden story she’d choreographed for Fern, or the music that swelled in her mind whenever she thought of him, or the faint, fatal rustle of wings that echoed in her ears as she jerked awake from an alluring, terrifying dream she couldn’t quite remember.
It meant nothing.
And that sudden sting on her back like a feather had been plucked out of her skin was entirely in her imagination.
“You like it?” he asked, replacing the hat on his head.
She wrinkled her nose. “Blends in with the straw too much. You need something with more color. Like a blue-jay feather.”
He beamed. “I’d love to find one of those.”
“You will,” she assured him. Because if she had to scour the internet and buy one herself, she’d make sure that eerie, unwelcome silver portent never saw the light of day again.