Page 7 of Rainwater
It didn’t surprise Jennifer that Jay agreed. He was so afraid of his father. A meaner man had never existed and Jay had learned at his knee. It was common knowledge that Robert Butler was an Indian-hater, and he would most likely cut Jay off without even a thought if he found out Jay had sullied himself with an “Indian,” rape or not.
Her thoughts went back to Corey Rainwater—strong, fearless Corey. She rested her head against the steering wheel, suddenly feeling melancholy over a man who she would never get a chance to know. She couldn’t pine for a guy she barely knew. Yet her thoughts stayed on him and she wished she could wipe that loneliness off his face and erase the pain in his eyes.
A longing surged up deep inside her. A longing so intense, so devastating that she almost felt swamped by it. She breathed deeply as it rolled over her in waves.
A pair of hot aqua eyes burned in her brain and the need intensified. “No. No damn way.”
She clamped down the longing and stuffed it and the weakness that came with it into a closet in her mind and slammed the door.
She wasn’t a fool. She knew what Jay and every other yahoo within a ten-mile radius wanted. The Triple X, the land that came with it and her money. She had inherited one of the richest ranches around these parts when her mother and father had been killed in a tragic plane crash during their annual trip toVegas. Her father had bred the best bucking bulls in the area. She still had standing contracts from rodeos all over the state and up north for rough stock. Her mother had also come from money, and at thirty-one, Jennifer found herself quite well off doing work she enjoyed and raising a precocious thirteen-year-old daughter.
Yes, she thought, Jay was interested in her money and her land. She hadn’t received so much male attention in years. After Sonny, she had made it quite clear she wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone, and they had left her pretty much alone. But now she was much too fat a pigeon for some of the lowlifes around here, and they were attracted to her like ticks to a hound.
Her hand still tingled from the outlaw’s touch and dejectedly she wished Corey had accepted the dinner invitation. It had been fun to flirt with him. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be desired for herself, not her bankroll. When had her life gotten so lonely? Struggling against an overwhelming urge to cry, she clenched her fists and beat at the wheel.He’s just passing through, she reminded herself.
She’d forgotten that thrilling rush when she’d been just a little bit reckless and just a little bit wild. But that was in the past. She had too much responsibility to let herself become morose over a tall, handsome stranger with painful secrets hidden in his eyes.
Well, this wasn’t getting her errands done, she thought. She’d go to the bank first, then the feed store. She put the truck in gear and drove out of the parking lot.
And still her hand tingled.
Corey woke up from a nightmare,sitting bolt upright, his breathing harsh in the silent room, his hip throbbing in time to the hard beating of his heart. He always woke from these dreams with an aching hip. He looked at his watch. It was almost noon, and he hadn’t eaten since last night. He should make his way over to the diner and get himself something to eat, he thought.
People looked up when he walked into the diner a half an hour later. An old man sat on one of the orange vinyl stools at the bar, the overhead lights casting his face in a sickly hue. A young mother and her little girl talked quietly in a corner booth while they munched french fries. The little girl popped her fingers in her mouth every so often to lick off the ketchup she kept smearing all over her hands.
He smiled, and the sudden image of Marigold insinuated itself into his head. His sister had loved ketchup and french fries.
Taking his eyes off the child, he noticed the old man staring at him, a gleam of recognition in his eyes. Corey stared back impassively until the man looked away.
Most of the conversation in the diner had stopped, except for the mother and little girl’s. The only sound was the coughing wheeze of the old air conditioner and the sizzle of hamburgers cooking on the grill. The air was heavy with the smell of grease and hot coffee. His stomach rumbled.
An old man and his blue-haired wife glanced his way. The woman leaned forward and whispered something to her husband. He could almost hear what she had to say.Do they let them kind in here?
Suddenly he felt so damn tired. Soul-weary, his mother would have said. The nap only seemed to have made the fatiguedeeper, heavier, as if it had settled into his bones instead of relieving the mounting pressure. A pressure that was now pressing on the backs of his eyes. Finally he found an empty booth and wearily sat down.
“Can I help you, handsome?”
A young waitress in the typical light pink uniform with a white apron approached the booth. She snapped her gum and giggled. “You got some really pretty eyes.”
Unsmiling, he looked up at her and she retreated a step. She was probably only making conversation, but the compliment irritated him. He remembered how Jennifer’s eyes had widened when she had seen his eyes, and the obvious admiration mirrored there had made him feel powerful.
“Can I get something for you, sir?” A new respect whispered in her voice and he glanced down at the menu, disgusted with himself. Now he was scaring young girls. What was next? Kicking dogs? He was in a black mood. He felt like hitting something. In his youth, when these moods came upon him, he’d look for a fight and God help the poor bastard who started with him.
The circuit had taught him always to sit facing the door, never to back down from a fight and always to look people straight in the eye. It had toughened him up, made a man out of him.
With the bull goring, something had changed. He didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t put his finger on it, and the anxiety churned in his gut. He felt restless all the time. And angry.
He thought he had put his anger to rest a long time ago, but lately it surfaced at odd intervals. He got so angry that he had to get on his bike and ride until the black rage passed.
“Coffee, black, and a steak sandwich.”
“Do you—” she faltered when he looked up at her “—want fries?” She swallowed and her eyes widened. He realized he’d unnerved her so much she’d swallowed her gum.
“No.” He softened his expression, but the young woman was so rattled she didn’t notice.
He followed her with his eyes as she turned away and placed his order. As he shifted his gaze, he caught the eyes of the old man sitting at the bar.
“I know you,” the man said. “You’re Corey Rainwater, best damn bull rider I ever did see. Saw the ride that won you the gold buckle last year. It was something to see.”
