Any Man of Mine (5 page)

Finally, Chip rang the bell, signaling eight sec
onds, and with a roar of pride Jigs leaped off the horse, landed on his feet and sent his hat into the air in the traditional gesture of victory.

“Way to go, Jigs,” Jace called out.

As Jigs turned, he ran his gloved hands through his hair and looked up at me, his teeth a white slash of victory against his dusty skin.

And ice slipped through my veins.

Jigs was none other than my date of the other night. My Schubert-loving, poetry-spouting James Ashby.

D
ust floated down between us as James stared at me. All the vague hints and not-so-vague urgings to “stay away” and my brothers' parting comments about a bet that day at the garage came crashing together with a mind-numbing jar. Of course they wanted me to stay away. They didn't want me to discover their little plan to get Jigs—James, whoever—and their sister together.

On top of that, they probably wanted a detailed play-by-play of how dead easy it was to fool their romantic sister. I had heard enough recaps of dates over the breakfast table or dinner table to know exactly what their conversation had covered.

My imagination was making my cheeks burn and my blood pressure rise. And James, whoever he was, was in on the whole thing.

How could I have been so incredibly dumb? And how could my brothers do this to me? Again.

Freddie Cramer, aka Fearless Freddie, in December, 1995, was the last time they had made a bet on me. I was heartbroken because I didn't have a date for the annual Preston Composite High School Frosty Formal. When Freddie asked me out I was ecstatic. Then I found out that my brothers had made a bet with Freddie and another friend. I could have walked away from that situation with my pride intact had I been the prize. Instead I found out that the loser had to take me.

I didn't talk to my brothers until the Christmas Eve service when the minister encouraged us to pass the peace. I would have preferred to pass a few other things, like a good smack, but the peace of Christmas had descended on me and I was in a mood to be generous.

I got a bit of my own back, though. The boys' punishment was being sent to the cosmetics counter of a local department store. Mom made them buy my favorite perfume, lotion and other assorted feminine products.

As far as I knew, they never did it again. Until now. And this time I didn't have Mom to help me out with the punishment.

Anger vied with shame and, much as it bothered me to admit it, a sharp dose of pain. I had
liked
this guy—man—well, actually, guy. While not exactly gearing up to register at Linens-n-Things, I was daring to doodle plans for future dates based on a pleasant evening.

What a fool I was.

So I crossed my arms, rooted to the spot by flimsy pride as James/Jigs vaulted over the side of the arena and ran up toward me. “Hey, Danielle,” he called out, his voice full of pleasure. And why wouldn't it be? He had me fooled with his Schubert and his poetry and his nice suit. He had won.

At least Fearless Freddie had had the grace to look somewhat sheepish when I confronted him.

“So, how much did my brothers get you for?” I asked in my best imitation of my mom. I had to jump immediately on the defensive or my voice was going to start that little wobble thing that always drove my brothers nuts.

James pulled his hat off and frowned. “What are you talking about?” His hair, now free from the constricting gel that had held his hair in place last night, fell across his forehead. It looked longer. Softer.

Are you a complete idiot? This character had some old-fashioned guy fun with your brothers at your expense and you're admiring the fact that today he's not using hair products?

I pushed the anger back into my voice. “The bet. Did they have to convince you to take it?”

“What are you talking about?”

He was
really
good. He had that whole innocent thing down pat. Some of my more delinquent foster kids could take lessons from him.

“C'mon, Jigs,” I said, putting extra emphasis on the nickname my brothers used for him. “I know exactly what's been going on here.”

Last night his smile had made me kind of trembly, made me feel all feminine and attractive.

Now, as he absently brushed sawdust off the crown of his hat, he gave me a slightly mocking grin, which made it easier to stoke the fires of my righteous indignation.

In spite of all those years of teasing and tormenting, it still hurt that my brothers would resort to this again. And that they had managed to coach James so well that for a few hours I had actually thought I had met a potentially caring, sensitive man.

“Let me guess how this worked,” I said, my anger building. “I didn't exactly fall all over you when they introduced us at the garage. Your pride was hurt so you and the boys got together and figured out the best way to get to me. Hence the haircut, the clean-shaven look, the suit…” I paused to let this all sink in to his “guy” brain. “Whose idea was the poetry?
That
was a nice touch.”

James shrugged casually, not the slightest hint of shame in his expression. “Glad you liked it.”

“It was inspired.” I spat the words out, glared at my brothers, then back at James, or rather, Jigs. “And now I know why my brothers were so eager for me to stay away from here. How long were you hoping to keep this up before you sprung this on me. A week? A month? Did you have the meter ticking?” I stopped because I could feel the faint prick of tears in my eyes. I took a deep breath and got to my finale. “I hope you and my brothers got a good laugh out of
the whole business. I hope you enjoyed yourself. And I hope I never see you again.” I spun around and stormed back out of the arena, which was tricky considering I was wearing two-inch heels and the floor was dirt.

Of course there were no violins, wind machines or slow-motion camera shots. Of course James didn't call out my name and come running after me to tell me that I had it all wrong or that he was sorry.

This wasn't a romantic movie. This was a reality show—Danielle and Her Brothers. And the reality was that my coat caught on the door as I swung it open and a breeze coming in from outside tossed my long hair into my eyes and ended up reducing the impact of my supposedly dramatic exit.

What made it even worse, what really added to the perfection of the moment, was that as I was pushing my hair back so I could see to free my coat, I heard James—no, make that
Jigs
—call out, “Well, that went well.”

I had coached Laurel Milligan through childbirth. I learned all about the breathing technique that was supposed to help her relax and I used it now.

I had to, or I would have left the coat hanging on the door while I went inside and performed violence on any male within hitting distance.

It was
not
my best moment.

“It's not fair, Lord,” I wailed, as I drove home, thumping the steering wheel for emphasis, much like a preacher would the pulpit to drive a point home. “I
finally think I find a decent man and he ends up in cahoots with my brothers. And I know I'm not supposed to hate him or them, but right now my grapes of wrath are being trampled. Hard. Why are they always so miserable to me? Why can't they treat me like a sister instead of like a buddy?” Then, in spite of my pique, I added, “And why couldn't that James person have turned out to be a nice man who would care for me and be all sensitive and give me flowers and buy pretty presents for my birthday instead of windshield wiper fluid for my car, like the boys do?”

I sniffed, which made me feel like a quavery teenager and only added to my frustration. I was a grown woman. I had been hardened in the crucible of living with my brothers. Being a sob-sister was not tolerated.

“Sorry, Lord,” I added as I pulled into the driveway of our home. “I don't mean to be complaining and I know I don't have anything to kvetch about, but it sure would be nice to be treated a little better by the males in my life.” I waited a moment, letting my emotions settle down. Then, when I was over my mini-pique, I added a prayer for my father and for some of the harder cases I'd had to deal with in the past week.

I thought again of Kent, who, thanks to Tracy's intervention, was now in a safe foster home while his mother got her life back on track. Apparently with Chip.

And I was so busy defending my honor that I forgot to talk to Chip about Juanita. And Steve. I had
to remember to tell him, or I was going to end up caught in the crossfire.

As I entered the house, I heard the excited voice of a sports commentator describing an amazing catch some outfielder had made while playing some game somewhere.

I paused in the door of the living room, but Dad didn't look up. Of late, my father didn't take kindly to distractions and I doubted I would get a sympathetic ear if I told him what his sons had done to me. So I slouched off to my bedroom to pout in private.

As I changed I caught my reflection in the mirror. I brushed my long, blond hair back from my face and took a moment to study my face. Sort of pretty, if you liked the pale look. Ordinary nose, mouth needed lipstick. Eyes, okay, as long as I put mascara on the pale eyelashes.

Had James seen anything he liked about me?

I thought again of his comment when I came into the garage, his look at the supermarket checkout. How he smiled at me when we were at the restaurant. How he looked at me when we walked toward the river.

The almost kiss I got.

I spun away from the mirror. What did I care what some guy-friend of my brother's thought about me. I was a joke, a bet, a deal, a challenge. Pick one.

I walked into the living room and laid my hand on my dad's shoulder. He looked up at me. “You're home late. Busy day at work?”

“How are you feeling?”

He lifted his hand and waggled it back and forth. “Tired, but not too bad.” He patted my hand, then turned his attention back to the baseball game. I stood a moment, watching as the batter walked up to the plate, tapped it, spat and hitched his pants up, while the commentator delivered an incomprehensible barrage of information about him. I liked to participate in the dinner conversation, so occasionally I made an effort to watch.

I shifted my weight, glancing back over my shoulder at the clock. Enough with the sports bonding moment. I had to get supper going.

“I'll be in the kitchen if you need me,” I said to my father.

As I peeled potatoes, scraped carrots and fried chicken, my mind kept slipping back to the humiliation of the afternoon. Was I so desperate that I jumped on any available male without being even slightly suspicious?

And what was to be suspicious of? I thought James was on the level. I thought he was a nice person. A stranger in town who respected my faith, who could talk for five minutes without mentioning anything remotely resembling a sports statistic.

I cringed all over again when I remembered the conversations I'd had with him. Especially my “man” and “guy” rant. He must have had a great laugh with my brothers over that one.

And my brothers? Didn't they care about me at all? Were my feelings simply something to have fun with?

As my thoughts spun around and around, my blood started to boil. I looked at the potatoes, now covered with water, waiting until the boys were home before I cooked them.

I made a radical decision.

No more waiting, like Mom always did, for them to come home before I started cooking the vegetables. No more waiting until they were done washing their hands before I put the dressing on the Caesar salad so the croutons wouldn't get soggy.

Until I officially moved out, supper was going to be served on my schedule, not the other way around. I put the carrots on the stove and turned on the heat under them with a vicious twist of my wrist.

You rebel, you.

I set the table and then joined my father.

“How soon is supper, honey?”

“In about twenty minutes.”

“Are the boys here yet?”

“Doesn't matter. Dinner's ready in twenty, we're eating in twenty.”

This netted me a puzzled glance but I didn't respond. I had made up my mind and I wasn't going to yield. Fifteen minutes later I got up to do the last-minute preparations when I heard the back door slam, and my brothers' voices, and disappointment pressed on my tired brain.

What was the use of trying to make a point when the people didn't stay away long enough for the point to be made?

Jace, Chip and Neil burst into the kitchen, laughing and joking. I stood with my back to them, ignoring them, but they didn't break ranks or pace, and headed straight for the bathroom to wash up. No remorse. No, “Gee, sister, I'm sorry we messed with your mind and your heart.”

Just a faint reduction of chatter as they passed by me.

I poured the water off the carrots and put the pot on the table. Life. It was the same old, same old. I really
had
to get out of here.

 

“Chip, you need to know Juanita is not someone you can fool around with. She's in a fragile place. I don't want you going out with her and then changing your mind. Besides, this Steve guy is not someone you want to fool around with. You be careful.” I adjusted the hands-free headset of my phone as I put the finishing touches on my resume. It was Wednesday, after hours, so I didn't have to feel guilty about using government time. The job I was applying for looked like a dream job—working for an international adoption agency. Some travel was required. Boy, howdy, did that sound like the job for me. Travel was exactly the thing I needed right now. I was ready to geographically extend the boundaries of my life.

My big talk with my brothers Friday night had fizzled into a complaint about their matchmaking, which wasn't really the issue. They couldn't understand my pique. So instead of three groveling contrite brothers I got The Look and The Shrug.

My anger with them made me forget to talk to Chip about Juanita. Until now.

“Steve is mean, he's trouble and he's out to get you.”

“I'm not afraid of him,” Chip said. “I'll take my chances. As for Juanita, I like her. I met her a while ago and I know she's had her share of problems, but I really care about her and that little boy.”

“Do you really know what you're getting into?” I was pleased that my brother didn't see Kent as a liability. I really liked the kid myself and wanted badly for him to have some stability in his life.