The Loner (11 page)

She’d been chattering since the moment the ceremony ended and Billy had hustled her into her Silverado and headed for the Castle. Her pickup had air-conditioning, but Billy had said he needed the fresh air and rolled down all the windows. She felt hot and sweaty, and the scorching wind, heated by the unrelenting sun on the asphalt, whipped her hair into her mouth every time she opened it to speak. And she couldn’t seem to shut up.

She caught her lower lip in her teeth to stem the tide of nervous words and stared out at the mesquite trees in the pasture, their roots running hundreds of feet beneath the ground, doing battle with the grass for the scarce water that was sufficient to keep only one of them alive.
She bit at a cuticle, then heard her mother’s voice in her head telling her what an uncouth habit it was. She dropped her hands into her lap, then loudly cleared her throat, hoping Billy would say something, maybe ask if she was all right.

At which point she would tell him no. She had no idea why she felt so agitated, but Billy was doing nothing to allay her anxiety. Right now, he was busy imitating a stone statue.

“Why don’t you say something?” she said. “What are you thinking? What are you feeling? Talk to me, Billy.”

“I was wondering how fast we can get that $25,000,” Billy replied. “The sooner I pay off Debbie Sue, the better. I want that custody hearing canceled.”

Summer felt her heart sink. Of course Billy’s first thoughts were about his son. That was the whole reason he’d suggested getting married. But she couldn’t help feeling hurt. She’d told Billy she was marrying him to thwart her parents, but she hadn’t been able to keep herself from romanticizing the situation.

Sure, they were marrying for convenience, but once upon a time, Billy Coburn’s kisses had curled her toes and made her heart gallop. She had to admit that deep down she’d been hoping he’d fall madly in love with her. They’d be short of cash for a couple of years, but eventually she’d have her trust fund and they’d live happily ever after.

The reality was she had two rough, Spartan years ahead of her. And Billy wasn’t acting the least bit romantic.

“When and how do you want to tell your parents?” Billy said.

Summer grimaced. “Will you think I’m a coward if I say I’d rather let them find out on their own?”

He glanced sideways at her. “You’re my wife now. If you want me there when you tell them, just say the word. Blackjack doesn’t scare me.”

Summer grinned, but the moment of levity vanished when she thought of what a confrontation between her father and Billy might be like. She shuddered when she imagined the same scene with her mother. “I can’t do it right now,” she said. “Just let me grab a few things from the house.”

“Want me to come in with you?” he said as he stopped her truck at the back door to the Castle.

“No. I’ll be quick.”

The house seemed empty, but it often did. The servants moved quietly about their duties, and her mother likely was hidden away in her studio at the end of the hall on the second floor, creating another artistic masterpiece. Eve Blackthorne’s acclaimed Western oil paintings were featured in galleries all over the country.

Summer had often envied her mother’s talent—and resented the time she spent in her studio creating “perfect” paintings from photographic images of Western life, carefully correcting each flaw the camera had captured on film. Her mother painted the world as it might be, not as it was. Sometimes Summer wanted to paint back in a fly-blown sore on a cow, or the rot in a mesquite fence post, or put back in the too-narrow space between a cowgirl’s eyes, so her face was distinctively her own.

But she didn’t have her mother’s talent. She didn’t have any talent, for that matter. Oh, she could sit a horse
pretty well, and she could dance the two-step and the cotton-eyed Joe with flair. And challenged by her father, she’d mastered the computer programs necessary to manage Bitter Creek.

But she didn’t have a college degree. She couldn’t sew or cook. She had no idea how to play an instrument or sing on key. And she didn’t know squat about babies.

What on earth had she been thinking when she agreed to marry Billy Coburn? She was going to end up being one more responsibility loaded on his already overburdened shoulders. He was going to hate her for taking advantage of the situation when he saw how inept she was with Will.

But she couldn’t help being what she was. Maybe she had been spoiled, growing up in a house where everything was done for her. That didn’t mean she couldn’t learn. And she would.

As Summer tiptoed down the upstairs hall, stepping around the places in the wooden floor that she knew would groan, she vowed that Billy would never have cause to be sorry he’d made her his wife.

She crept into her bedroom, closed the door, and leaned back against the cool wood, staring wistfully around her room. It was everything a young girl could want. A pink canopied bed. A collection of stuffed animals, which she’d used for company when she’d felt alone. An enormous mirror above her dressing table covered with taped-up pictures of her and her family.

She crossed to the mirror and began pulling off pictures. One of her as a three-year-old with flyaway blond curls, holding Trace’s hand and staring up at him with a grin on her face. Of her at seven in messy pigtails and
ragged jeans, standing between Owen and Clay in their football uniforms. Of her at fifteen in a ponytail, sitting on her horse holding a first-place ribbon for barrel racing, her father smiling up at her.

There were no pictures of her with her mother. Or with friends.

She grimaced and headed for her walk-in closet. She’d just married her best friend in the world. And if she didn’t hurry up and pack, he was liable to head for home without her. She grabbed a travel bag from the floor of her closet and opened it on the bed, then began rooting through drawers for underwear, the T-shirts she slept in, and jeans. She was wearing her favorite pair of boots.

Her Western shirts were all ironed and starched on hangers. She found a hanging bag and stuffed in about a dozen. She debated whether to take any dresses, then figured if she hadn’t gotten married in a dress, she wasn’t going to have much need for one.

Unless they went to church. She knew Billy didn’t go to church, but his mother did. She pulled a Von Furstenberg-like print jersey dress from the closet, rolled it in a ball and stuck it in the travel bag with her jeans. She considered the strappy Manolo Blahnik heels she normally wore with the jersey dress, then chose a pair of plain black Coleo•Haan pumps and dumped them in on top of the dress.

She looked around the room for anything else she might want or need in the next couple of weeks. She hurried to the small chest beside her bed, opened the top drawer and pulled out her diary—although she called it a journal now—and flipped to her latest entry.

Summer was appalled to see that she’d gone on for another two paragraphs describing everything she could remember about Billy Coburn in minute detail. Was she really so fixated on him? She didn’t dare take the chance of letting Billy see any of this.

She stuck the diary back in the drawer and shut it. Surely at some point she would be returning to pack away her things. She’d have to forgo writing in a journal until then. She turned back into the room, wondering what else she would need.

And realized she’d forgotten about cosmetics and toiletries—and medications. She got her birth control pills out of the medicine cabinet, then grabbed toothpaste, toothbrush, comb, and brush. She considered whether to take her scented soap and expensive shampoo, then grabbed both. The day would come when she had to use unscented soap and cheap shampoo, but there was no sense denying herself a few luxuries in the meantime.

She grabbed the small bag that held her makeup. She didn’t use much, but she didn’t feel dressed in the morning
without some mascara and lipstick. She made herself leave everything else.

She unzipped her travel bag enough to stuff the makeup inside, then looked around to see if there was anything else she couldn’t do without. And spotted the stuffed teddy bear that sat in an honored position in the center of her bed.

The bear was small, made of dark brown terry cloth, with a red and green plaid ribbon tied around its neck that had frayed on the ends. One of the two button eyes was missing. She picked up the bear and hugged it to her. She had left Brownie at home when she’d made her forays into university life. And missed him terribly.

But she wasn’t a child anymore. Or even a lonely young girl. She was a married woman.

“It’s time for me to leave, Brownie,” she said to the bear. She laid him back on the bed in his place of honor, then reached for the two bags she’d packed.

An instant later, she dropped the bags and grabbed Brownie. “You can keep Will company,” she said to the bear as she unzipped the travel bag and stuffed him inside.

And me if I get lonely
…

She opened her bedroom door, picked up her bags, and walked out the door.

And ran right into her mother.

“Oh. Excuse me.”

“Does this mean you’ve made a decision?” her mother asked, eyeing the two bags.

“I can’t marry Geoffrey,” Summer said.

“I always knew you were selfish,” her mother replied. “I never thought you were stupid.”

Summer gripped her bags tighter, wishing there was some way to stop the humiliating flush burning its way up her throat. She’d always yearned for her mother’s approval, strived to earn it, yet somehow never quite measured up. That didn’t mean she didn’t love her mother, and respect her. She offered the only explanation she could, hoping it would be enough. “I don’t love Geoffrey.”

“You’re being ridiculous. Go unpack those bags while I call Geoffrey and—”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Geoffrey will forgive and forget. I’m sure you can smooth everything over—”

“I’m married,” she blurted. “I married Billy Coburn this morning.”

Summer waited for the explosion she was sure was coming. Instead of raging, her mother threw back her head and laughed.

“This is rich. This is perfect. Your father will throw forty fits. His darling daughter married to a saddle tramp without a penny. Even better, your father’s very own bastard son. Oh, I love it!” And she sailed off into another fit of laughter.

Summer hadn’t thought she could feel any worse. But her mother’s laughter made something precious curl up inside her and die. She couldn’t even defend herself by saying she loved Billy. And she didn’t dare explain the real reason she’d married him. She couldn’t take the chance that her mother would do something vindictive to punish Billy for spoiling her plans.

“What does your father say about this?” her mother asked.

“He doesn’t know yet.”

“I want to be a fly on the wall when you tell him,” she said.

“I’m leaving now, Momma. Billy’s waiting for me outside.”

“I’ll just come along and congratulate your new husband.”

“Please don’t, Momma,” Summer said, cringing at the spite she heard in her mother’s voice. “There’s no need—”

“Let’s go, Summer,” her mother said.

Summer brushed past her mother and headed down the stairs, walking as fast as she could without running, trying to put distance between them so she could give Billy some warning that her mother was right behind her.

“I can’t imagine what you were thinking, Summer,” her mother said from behind her. “I thought you had more pride than this. Are you pregnant?”

Summer stopped abruptly in the middle of the kitchen and turned to stare at her mother, her mouth gaping. “Of course not!”

“Then why have you done this?” her mother said, her eyes focused intently on Summer’s face.

Summer felt like an ant under a magnifying glass, the kind cruel little boys held, focusing the fierce rays of the sun so that eventually the ant burned to cinders. She didn’t want to tell the truth. And she couldn’t think of a good enough lie to fool her mother. So she stood there, staring back helplessly. She never felt like this with her father. She could face him toe-to-toe and fight.

But her mother reduced her to this quivering, sniveling
creature without any backbone. Her throat had closed so tight it was threatening to choke her.

“Well?” her mother demanded. “Cat got your tongue?”

Summer couldn’t have said a word to save her life.

“What the hell is going on here?” a voice bellowed from the kitchen doorway.

Summer dropped her bags, turned, and ran toward her father, wrapping her arms around him as she careened into him. “Daddy,” she sobbed, pressing her cheek against his chest. “Oh, Daddy.”

He’d always been her refuge in a storm. Suddenly, she noticed that his body was stiff, and his arms had not closed around her.

She lifted her head and looked up into his face. And saw that he knew what she’d done. And disapproved. His gray eyes were as cold and remote as she’d ever seen them. She looked past his shoulder and saw Billy standing in the doorway behind him, his face pale, his jaw taut.

She took a step back and let her hands drop to her sides.

“Is it true?” her father said.

She focused on Billy’s face and tried to divine what he was thinking, but his dark eyes were shuttered. She realized her father was still waiting for an answer—and that she’d been waiting for Billy to provide it. After all, he’d said he would be there to support her.

Well, he was here. But obviously, he expected her to stand up to her father. She didn’t want Billy to find her wanting so soon in their marriage. If he expected her to be strong, she’d be strong.