Chapter Nine
C aleb woke up as soon as the faint light of dawn began to glow between the slats in the shutters, an unshakeable habit borne from twenty-odd years on a farm, where nature dictated the daily routine.
Nature and the Bible, to be accurate.
He was in Jessa’s room, in Jessa’s bed, the same place he’d woken up five mornings in a row. She slept silently beside him, turned away on her side, and he eased closer, sliding his arm over her waist and propping his chin above her head. She sighed and shifted, twisting to press her nose into his collarbone, her small hands flat on his chest.
He held her close and watched the gathering sunlight, wondering if his parents had been right all along.
Wondering if this was his damnation.
He’d found happiness he’d never imagined, and it was in a place he wouldn’t stay with a woman who wouldn’t love him. If that wasn’t righteous torment for a multitude of sins, he wasn’t sure what was.
The last wall between him and Jessa had crumbled that evening in the dance studio, and although Caleb repeatedly told himself their connection was purely physical, his heart knew him for a liar. He’d known the moment she straddled him that he was a goner, that there was no more chance to protect himself, and the best he could hope for was to survive the pain of the end.
That was freeing, in a way. No point trying to plug a hundred leaks with ten fingers. He let himself sink instead, enjoying the journey to the bottom even though he knew it would be a hard, frantic swim back to the surface.
They had sex again that night, within hours of getting home from the studio, and once more the following morning. He moved into her bedroom and suddenly they were lovers, holding hands over coffee, kissing each other goodbye, texting continually while they were apart during the day, and trading coded glances when they reunited at the studio in the afternoon, sizzling preludes to the fireworks that erupted as soon as the front door of her house shut behind them.
His happiness went beyond the physical, though. Instead of waking up to creeping financial dread and cautious stretches to assess what hurt and how badly, he had energy and purpose, itemizing his list of tractor-repair appointments and dance-studio chores. He ate real food from a real kitchen, not cheap truck-stop junk, and could feel his body healing and strengthening as he worked out with Jessa’s yoga ball and her light set of weights.
But there it was, that catch in his contented sigh, the indecipherable whisper that ruined his sleep. He was still watching rodeo footage, still working on the balance and core strength needed to keep him on a bull, still trading emails with Rusty and now Charlie from Red Spur about Fort Stockton. The reality of his future still penetrated the fantasy of his present, and he knew Jessa’s did, too.
She wouldn’t touch him in public, for one thing. Had no plans to tell her sisters about their marriage or their divorce. Spoke sincerely about wanting to watch him ride one day, to drive out to Austin or Houston or wherever to see him compete, but it had a sad, hollow undertone.
They both knew that would never happen. That when they said goodbye this time, it was forever.
His stomach ached at the thought, and he tightened his arm around her, focusing on the here and now.
He’d endure the pain when it arrived. No point denying himself the pleasure in the meantime.
She was still sleepy and soft but awake enough to press a kiss to his throat, another to the underside of his chin. He brushed his lips against her forehead, and she ran her fingertips across his cheek, scratching gently.
“You need a shave,” she murmured, and he could hear her smile.
“Not the only thing I need.” He ground his erection against her abdomen, thrilling at the breathy moan it coaxed from her mouth.
“At this rate I’ll be limping to that audition tomorrow,” she complained, simultaneously tugging off the unforgivably skimpy camisole and shorts she’d worn to bed.
“Not my fault you’re irresistible.” He rolled on top of her, palming her breast with one hand while he used the other to pull his T-shirt over his head.
“And it’s not my fault you’re insatiable.” She kissed him hard, one leg already wrapped around his hip as she reached into his boxers and—
The doorbell rang, sharp and clear and followed by an insistent knock.
Caleb swore, rushing to his feet as the bell chimed again. Whoever it was, they weren’t going away.
“I’ll get it,” he muttered, and hurried out of the bedroom while Jessa fumbled for her clothes. He rearranged his boxers to conceal his frustrated cock and swung open the door.
An older man wearing a shipping-company uniform stood on the front step, his expression moving from pleasant greeting to wide-eyed surprise and then back again.
“Sorry to bother you. I have a couple of deliveries that need a signature and Miss Star is awful particular about—”
“Hi, Craig.” Jessa appeared beside him wearing the sundress she’d had on last night and a big, fake smile. “This is my houseguest, Caleb Ross. He’s stopping over in Last Stand on his way to Fort Stockton.”
Jessa gave him a subtle shove out of the doorway, which he ignored.
“Ross,” Craig repeated thoughtfully, wisely opting to keep his opinion of Caleb’s presence—and his state of undress—to himself. “This big one is for Calamity Ross. Any chance you’re one and the same?”
“That’s me.” Caleb signed for the large cardboard box at Craig’s feet, then dragged it inside as Jessa signed for a manila envelope.
“Thanks, Craig. See you around,” Jessa said brightly as she closed the door.
“Bye,” Craig replied, peering at Caleb through the diminishing crack until it shut.
Jessa pressed her palms over her face. “Caleb, you can’t answer the door naked. Thankfully Craig is pretty discreet, but anyone could’ve seen you.”
“I’m not naked.”
“You might as well be.”
“How’s this, I’ll knock on all your neighbors’ doors right now and ask if they mind. Could take a while, though—I have a feeling Mrs. Lombard across the street might invite me in for milk and cookies.” He put his hand on the doorknob and she jerked it off with a shriek.
Jessa shook her head, her exasperation giving way to that chiding smile he’d grown so fond of. “You’re impossible. What’s in the box?”
“No idea.” He crouched down and tore it open, his eyes rounding at the contents. One by one he drew out pieces of Red Spur attire—crisp pearl-snap shirts with the logo on the sleeves, patches for his protective vest, even branded athletic tape for wrapping the wrist of his glove.
He stared at the array splayed on Jessa’s floor, the solid, three-dimensional proof that his haphazard bull-riding career was worth something to someone other than himself. He’d wanted a sponsorship like this for years and here it was, laid out before him like a feast.
He felt nothing. No elation, no excitement. Just empty, unmoved, and if he dug really deep, a little hesitant. He’d be putting it all on the line again soon—his body, his health, his life—and he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that his time with Jessa had slowed his reckless momentum.
He’d get it back, he assured himself as he straightened. He’d get over her and he’d get it all back.
“Pretty spiffy,” she remarked, examining one of the patches.
“Christmas morning for a bull rider. Or Hanukkah,” he amended, and the way she smiled at him nearly brought him to his knees.
He looked away, nodding to the envelope in her hand. “What’d you get?”
She opened it and tugged out a thin sheaf of papers, her expression souring. “Divorce paperwork from the attorney. We both need to sign, and then it’s done.”
“That’s it? We’ll be divorced?”
“We’ll be divorced.”
The air in the room stiffened with unspoken tension, as if a ghost had just materialized in the corner and neither of them dared acknowledge it. They were frightened of its presence, sure, but even more scared that the other person didn’t see it at all.
Caleb regarded the documents warily, careful to keep his expression neutral. His head told him to sign, and sign quickly, but his heart—his reckless, deeply unwise heart—whispered that there was plenty of time. It took but a second to scrawl the nine letters of his name. No need for haste, not just now.
“There’s something else.” Jessa flipped to a loose page at the back, and as she drew it out Caleb held his breath, wondering what other lethal surprises might be tucked inside that innocuous manila envelope.
“It’s an invoice,” she told him grimly, and he exhaled.
“I’ll help you with that,” he said quietly, but she shrugged. She shoved the paperwork back inside and threw the envelope on the coffee table, a move so counter to her obsession with tidiness that he almost picked it up and tidied it away himself.
Except that she sidled up to him, hazel eyes shining with mischief.
“We’ll deal with that later. First things first. I got dressed so fast, I think I forgot something.”
She grabbed his wrist and brought his hand between her legs, where he found her bare, slick, and as wet as a mountain rainstorm.
Caleb didn’t speak, didn’t think, just threw her over his good shoulder and carried her back to bed, happily walking away from the future that lay in a forgotten, cluttered mess on the floor.
“Stop. That’s not right. Maybe I’m not explaining myself correctly.”
Kat’s smile was apologetic, but her tone was tight and unconvinced. Jessa put on her best I’m-eager-to-receive-constructive-feedback expression, but inwardly she shrank as Kat approached.
She’d ridden to Austin that morning on a high, feeling brave and beautiful in the passenger seat of Caleb’s truck. A week of mind-blowing sex had loosened every muscle in her body, Caleb’s endeared attention had filled her with confidence, and his expanded presence in her life had brought nothing but positives.
Everything was easier with Caleb around, and not just because he was an extra pair of helpful—and in the bedroom, exceptionally skillful—hands. He was supportive and encouraging, easygoing and lighthearted. When he teased her, it was good-natured and affectionate, and never had the edge of ridicule or dismissal she often heard from her sisters. With him she was freer and more fun, yet he also took her seriously, and she knew she could trust him with her most fervent desires and her most outrageous what-ifs.
He cheered her up and calmed her down, and as long as she didn’t think about what would happen when he left or her guilt at keeping their marriage a secret, her daily life was wall-to-wall joy.
Until she’d stepped onto the stage of this black-box theater in Austin.
She had an audience of four—Kat and two of her assistants on the project in the front row, plus a long-legged, straw-hatted cowboy loitering at the very back. But as soon as Kat began explaining the choreography, Jessa’s self-assurance crumbled as if every seat was filled by a sneering, jeering critic.
She knew she’d be rusty, and she definitely wasn’t in performance-ready shape, but she’d been optimistic, even excited on that morning’s drive. It felt good to do her hair again, to pack her leotard and tights, to run through a quick stretching routine as she thought about the task ahead, got her mind into the character and the story. This was the first audition she’d ever walked into without nausea or tight shoulders or a tension headache, and she brazenly imagined she’d crossed a threshold. That this marked the beginning of a new phase in which she could dance and be imperfect and love it anyway.
Maybe it was no surprise, then, that she hadn’t anticipated how much she’d get in her own way. Immediately she struggled, bewildered by her inability to make her body do what she wanted, alarmed to find herself battling for the precision and pace that once came so easily. Self-doubt played on a loop in her mind, drowning out Kat’s instruction and tangling her ankles together. She was stiff, unwieldy, heavy-footed, and bad. Very bad.
And every time she thought about it, she got worse.
“The cambré and the arabesque penché is the crucial opposition, the two directions she’s being pulled in. She wants to love him, but she knows that love will cost her everything—her family, her children, the life she’d known and been fulfilled by until the moment he appeared on her doorstep. Don’t worry too much about the steps—improvise if you have to. What I really want to see is the fluidity, the emotion, the torment. Does that make sense?”
Jessa nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Let’s take it again from the retiré .”
The pianist restarted the music and Jessa began the sequence for the fourth time, trying to find her focus, to sink into the story. This had always been her challenge, to prioritize artistry over technical perfection, and God knew plenty of répétiteurs had made it clear she lacked both.
She hit the retiré , made a clunky transition into the arabesque, popped up to her right toe and raised her left leg higher, and higher, and higher—and stumbled forward, catching herself with her palms on the floor.
“I think we all need a break,” Kat said curtly. “We’ll resume in five minutes.”
Jessa all but fled from the stage, beelining for the back door while Kat and her entourage headed for a side entrance. Caleb caught up with her as she pushed into the hallway, taking her by her wrists and pulling her into an empty alcove set up for selling merchandise.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, squeezing her hands, and for the first time she realized that they were trembling, that her whole body was shaking and her cheeks were wet with tears.
“This is a disaster,” she whimpered.
He bundled her into his chest and gave her a quick, tight hug, then held her at arm’s length.
“You’ll figure this out. You had a slow start, and that’s normal after a couple of years on the sidelines. Now you got that out of the way, so you can go back in there and kill it.”
She shook her head. “I’m done. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Thank God I didn’t tell anyone about this.”
“You didn’t tell… Never mind. We’re here, and you’re going to pull it together.”
“I told you, I’m finished. I’ll tell Kat my injury flared up and then we’re leaving.”
“You can’t quit, Jessa.”
“It’s better than humiliating myself.”
“No, it’s not,” he said gently.
“Staying would waste Kat’s time, and then force her to make an awkward phone call to tell me I didn’t get the part.”
“Or it’d give you the chance to turn this around.”
She snorted. “Not happening. I’m terrible. No wonder nobody begged me to stay when I quit the ballet company. I wasn’t good enough then, and I’m a hell of a lot worse now. I’m a mess. A total disgrace.”
“Hey, you listen here,” he snapped, and she jerked in his grip. She’d never heard him so angry, and her shock froze her to the spot.
“Don’t you dare talk like that, not around me, not ever. Maybe you ain’t perfect, but you’re talented and driven and passionate and special. All those kids at the studio worship you, Fern and her mom are so grateful to you, your sisters would be lost without you, and I—”
He faltered, swallowed hard, and then continued, “I think you’re just about the best person I’ve ever met. I’m not about to let you quit on yourself, so you’re going back in there, you’re gonna give it your all, and if you fail, fail big and loud and spectacular. No shame, no apology. You hear me, girl?”
Jessa couldn’t speak—she barely managed to nod. In a lifetime of lessons and auditions and rehearsals, of pain and injury and exhaustion, of backstabbing and fakery and brutal competition, where every triumph was short-lived and each disappointment endless, no one had ever spoken to her like that. Failure had been dangled over her head, a constant threat, a nightmare even worse than the stressful, unrelenting pursuit of perfection she breathed every day.
No one had ever, ever told her failure was okay. If they had, she would’ve assumed it was a backhanded form of sabotage, encouraging her to tumble so they could slip into the space she’d left open.
But Caleb would never lie to her. He cared about her, understood her, wanted the best for her. He was honest and sincere and brave and maybe, just this once, his was the only opinion that mattered.
“Will you be proud of me if I try again?” she asked, her voice thin and tremulous.
“I’m already proud of you. Try again for yourself. No one else.”
She took a deep breath, gathering her courage, shoring up her trembling limbs.
“Go on,” Caleb murmured, raising his hands to cup her cheeks. “You can do this.”
He kissed her so tenderly, so earnestly that her heart wrenched wide open, spilling everything she’d been piling up inside. How much she needed him, how badly she wanted him, how terrified she was to lose him, an ugly jumble of tightly wound thoughts springing loose and careening around her brain.
There’d be no putting any of it back now, not without picking up each piece and finally acknowledging its ramifications. But as she heard the muffled sound of Kat’s voice in the theater behind them, she knew that would have to wait.
She clung to Caleb as long as she dared, then stepped back, smoothed her hair, and shook out her chiffon skirt.
He grinned. “You doing this? ”
“I’m doing it,” she confirmed grimly. She lifted her chin and strode back to the stage, greeting Kat with a smile.
“Let’s get back to work,” Jessa told her.
“Fine. The full section, ending in the arabesque penché and the cambré .” Kat nodded to the pianist, her tone distinctly impatient, her friendly, tolerant fa?ade gone. Jessa didn’t care. She didn’t care what Kat or her pinch-faced assistants thought. This was for the man in the back, the bright-red cardinal feather she’d stuck in his hat visible even in the semi-darkness, and it was for her.
To try. To fail. To be happy no matter what.
The music began, and Jessa did what she’d almost never done outside the sanctity of her private practices.
She closed her eyes.
She turned inward, forgetting her audience, forgetting everything except the story and the choreography. Kat’s piece was about infidelity, about a woman who falls for another man despite twenty happy years of marriage. Jessa couldn’t relate specifically, but she knew how it felt to yearn. To second-guess yourself. To find yourself so wrapped up in someone that you question who you thought you were and who you wanted to be.
She let it all course through her, the exhilaration, the fear, the devastating, wonderful certainty. She wasn’t perfect—she wasn’t even particularly good. But she felt it, and that moved her from one sloppy element to the next, unimpeded and unapologetic.
She ended in the cambré as the piano faded to silence, her arms arched behind her like wings, the swan poised for flight. Strong, whole, and unafraid.
Caleb shot to his feet in the back row and clapped frantically, the sound piercing the silence and echoing around the space.
Jessa straightened, cleared her throat, and turned to Kat expectantly.
Kat’s eyes were almost as wide as her slackened mouth.
“Very nice,” she said finally. “Let’s see it again.”