That was a drinking song I learned when I was barely out of school from one of the Mexican boys I used to pal around with. I didn’t even remember it until last night, and I never should have taught it to you.”
“It’s all Calhoun’s fault,” she said.
“I wonder why he started it?” Justin asked, watching her. “He didn’t show any signs of wanting to dance until he saw you and Tyler.”
Abby shifted restlessly in her chair. “Well, he doesn’t want me,” she said miserably. “Not on any permanent basis, anyway. He told me last night that he was a bad marriage risk. He likes variety, you see.”
“Most men do, until they find themselves so hopelessly enthralled with one woman that they can’t even look at anyone else,” Justin said tersely, staring at his coffee.
“Is that why you spend all your time alone?” she asked gently, searching his hard, drawn face. “Because your world begins and ends with Shelby?”
He glared at her. “Abby…”
“Sorry.” She sipped the coffee. “It’s just that I know how it feels now.” She traced the pattern of her lipstick on the edge of the cup. “I feel that way about your stupid, blind brother.”
The brief anger left his face, and he smiled gently. “I could pretend to be surprised, but I’m not. You’re pretty obvious. On the other hand,” he added, tilting his head back, “so is he. In all the years Calhoun’s been dating, this is the first time I’ve ever seen him behave as if he were jealous.”
Abby bit her lower lip. “He…wants me,” she said. She couldn’t look at him as she said it.
“Of course,” he replied carelessly, smiling at her shocked expression. “Abby, for a man that’s a big part of caring about a woman.”
“I guess I don’t know very much about men,” she said with a sigh. “In fact, I don’t know anything. Except that I want to live with him all my life, and have children with him, and look after him when he’s sick, and keep him company when he’s lonely.” She bit her lower lip. “So, that being the case, Justin, I think I’d better get out while I still can. Before something happens and Calhoun winds up trapped.” She looked up at Justin, her fear plain in her eyes. “You understand, don’t you?”
He nodded. “I think you’re very wise, Abby. If he cares enough, he’ll come after you. If he doesn’t…you might save both of you a lot of heartache by heading off trouble.” He shrugged. “But I’ll miss having you around.”
“I’ll come back and visit.” She sipped more coffee, and as she began to feel a little better she took off her dark glasses. “Can I still have my twenty-first birthday party here?”
“Sure,” he said readily.
“You may not approve of my guest list,” she added gently.
He took a deep breath. “Tyler Jacobs will be on it, I gather.”
“And Shelby.” He glared at her, and she smiled hesitantly. “Justin, I can’t very well invite him and not her. How would it look?”
“Calhoun might—” He stopped short.
Abby lifted her chin. “I have to stop caring what Calhoun does, and so do you. And if you don’t like Calhoun paying attention to Shelby, why not do something about it?” she added impishly. “You might get her drunk and teach her that terrible song.”
He almost smiled. “I did once,” he said, his dark eyes softening at the memory. “The night we got engaged.” Then he flinched and got up from the table. “I’ve got to try and go to work. How about you? Can you make it?”
“Of course I can.” She stood up, feeling as wobbly as he looked. She glanced at him ruefully. “Shall we flip a coin and see who drives?”
He chuckled. “I think I’d better. I’ve got more practice at it than you have. Come on.”
They muddled through the day, and at the end of it Abby called Mrs. Simpson and asked if she could go ahead and move in later that week. The older woman was delighted and promised to have the room ready. Then, with a heavy heart, Abby began to pack up her things, getting ready to say goodbye to the only home she’d known for the past five and a half years. Worst of all was the realization that once she left it she’d probably never see Calhoun again. Although she hadn’t mentioned it to Justin yet, she’d decided to quit her job at the feedlot, too. The prospect of seeing Calhoun every day, knowing that he wanted her but had no love for her, would tear her heart out.
Justin and two of the cowhands helped her get her possessions over to Mrs. Simpson’s house. Since the room was furnished, she hadn’t tried to take furniture with her, but she had plenty of clothes and records and books to carry. Her stereo and her color television went with her, along with her memorabilia. It was easier to think about living elsewhere with her belongings around. But after having a home of her own, even if she had shared it with the brothers, it was hard to adjust to a small apartment in someone else’s house.
She gave notice at the feedlot the very next day. It was hard, but Justin seemed to understand. He didn’t say a word. He just smiled.
But Calhoun didn’t understand. He came back unexpectedly in the middle of the following week, and when Abby came back from lunch it was to find him sitting on the corner of her desk, looking worn and smoking like a furnace.
She stared at him with eyes that adored him. It had only been a few days. A little over a week. But she’d ached for him. To be without him was like having part of her body cut away, and she didn’t know how she was going to manage to hide her feelings from him.
He was wearing a beige suit with a striped shirt, and his blond hair gleamed clean and thick in the light from the office window. He scowled over his cigarette.
She straightened the skirt of her pale blue dress nervously, waiting for him to look up. Then he did, and she saw the darkness of his eyes, the faint shadows under them.
He looked at her for a long time, oblivious to the noise around them, the ringing telephones, the buzz of printers. He looked at her until she felt uncomfortably warm and she blushed.
“You’ve moved out,” he said without preamble.
“Yes,” she replied huskily.
“And you’ve put in your notice here.”
She took a deep breath, moving a little closer. He smelled of spice and soap, and she stared unconsciously at his mouth, remembering its exquisite sweetness on her lips. “I…I’m going to work for George Brady and his father,” she said. “At the insurance office. I’m used to working with forms, so it won’t be so unfamiliar.”
“Why?” he ground out.
She smoothed her lower lip with her tongue, looking up at him with soft, wounded eyes.
“Here,” he muttered, catching her arm. He pulled her into his office and closed the door behind them, frowning down at her. He didn’t let go even then. His fingers were warm and firm through her soft sleeve, and their touch made her tingle.
“You know I can’t stay in the house anymore,”
