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Chapter Eleven
Abby pondered that odd remark for the next few lonely weeks. What had Calhoun meant, that they were going to become lovers? Or had he meant something quite different?
He’d taken her home after that last, passionate kiss, and he hadn’t made another single personal remark to her. He’d talked about the feedlot, about things at the house, even about the weather. And he’d left her at Mrs. Simpson’s with a warm, secretive smile, contenting himself with a chaste but breathlessly tender kiss on her forehead.
As he’d promised, he hadn’t called or come visiting. She hadn’t seen him or heard from him since that night. It had been hard going, too. She’d stopped by Misty’s a time or two, pretending to be happy so that her friend wouldn’t ask too many questions. Tyler had asked Abby out again, but she’d refused without really understanding why. She wanted only the memory of Calhoun. If it was all she could ever have of him, it would be more than a lot of lonely women had.
She enjoyed her work at the insurance office, and her bosses were good to her. She settled in without any problem, but she went home to a lonely room, and as the days went by she was almost frantic with the need to see Calhoun.
She’d gone to the Ballenger house to talk to Maria about the party, and she’d left a list of guests for Justin, but to her disappointment both the brothers had been away at the time. She’d managed to get nothing out of Maria, either, except for a careless remark that everything was fine at home and the brothers seemed to be very happy. Which did nothing for Abby’s self-esteem, especially since she missed Maria’s wicked, conspiratorial smile.
The night of the party, Abby drove herself to the Ballenger house. She felt starved for the sight of Calhoun. All her memories and all her fantasies only made it worse.
She was wearing a long electric-blue gown that enhanced her blue-gray eyes and emphasized her exquisite figure. It had soft fabric straps and a crisscross bodice, a fitted waist and a long, narrow skirt. She wore her hair up in a braided coiffure with wispy little curls hanging beside her ears and curling on her forehead. She looked mature and sophisticated. She might not be beautiful, but she felt it tonight, and her face radiated with a glow that only the anticipation of seeing Calhoun could give her.
Maria opened the door and hugged her impulsively. “So lovely,” the older woman sighed. “Everything has worked out so nicely, even the band was on time. Your guests have started arriving. The Jacobses are in the living room with Justin.”
Abby winced, but Maria shook her head.
“No, it is all right,” she said quickly. “Señor Justin and Señor Tyler have been talking cattle, and Señorita Shelby—” Maria smiled sadly. “Her soft eyes feed on Señor Justin like dry flowers welcoming rainfall. It breaks my heart.”
“And mine,” Abby said gently. “I’ll go and keep her company.”
She walked into the living room and smiled at Shelby, who was wearing a long green velvet skirt with a simple chemise top in white silk. She looked exquisitely lovely. Justin and Tyler, in dark suits, rose as she entered the room, both pairs of masculine eyes gazing appreciatively at her dress.
“Happy birthday, honey,” Justin said gently, and went forward to brush his hard mouth against her cheek. “And at least a hundred more.”
“I’ll second that,” Tyler grinned, his green eyes dancing as he bent and kissed her softly on the mouth. “You look delicious.”
“Thank you both,” she replied.
“I remember my own twenty-first birthday,” Shelby sighed after she’d hugged Abby and congratulated her. “It was very special.” Her eyes went helplessly to Justin, who stood very still and looked at her, his dark eyes full of emotion.
Abby could have cried. She hadn’t understood before, but now she knew how devastating it could be to want someone that much. She looked around the room. There were several other people there, friends from school, who waved and lifted their glasses in her direction. She smiled back, but her heart was getting heavier by the second.
“Justin, where’s Calhoun?” she asked finally.
Justin took a draw from his cigarette and dragged his gaze away from Shelby. Abby had asked the question he’d dreaded ever since she’d walked in the door. “I don’t know if he’s going to make it, honey,” he hedged, because he didn’t know where in hell Calhoun was either. She looked devastated, so he improvised. “He said to tell you happy birthday and—Abby!”
She couldn’t help it. She burst into tears, shaking with the disappointment. “I’m sorry…” she sobbed.
“Shelby, take her into the study, please,” Justin said.
“Of course.” Shelby put a gentle arm around her. “Abby, please don’t cry. I know Calhoun would have been here if he could have.”
“I’ll be all right in a minute,” Abby told Justin as they passed him and a quietly curious Tyler. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long week,” she added with a faint smile.
“I’ll knock him through a wall for this,” Justin said coldly. “I swear to God I will.”
“No, you won’t,” Abby sniffed. “As Shelby said, I’m sure he had a good reason.” She laughed coldly. “Probably a blond one…” Tears fell hotly again, and Shelby quickly got her out of the room, across the hall and into the study.
“Now sit down.” Shelby helped her to the burgundy leather sofa. “I’ll get you a brandy. Is that all right?”
“I hate him,” Abby said, burying her face in her hands. “I hate him so much!”
“Yes, I know.” Shelby smiled wryly and poured brandy into a snifter. She gave the glass to Abby, and watched her take a sip and grimace at the harsh taste.
Her blue-gray eyes lifted to Shelby’s green ones. “I haven’t even seen him in weeks,” she said brokenly. “He hasn’t called or come to see me. I didn’t know why then, but now I do. He was letting me down easy. He knows how I feel, and he doesn’t want to hurt me….”
“If it means anything, I know how you feel, too,” Shelby said gently, her eyes soft and sad.
“Yes, I’m sure you do.” Abby touched the older woman’s hand. “Justin never looks at anyone else. Calhoun said once that he supposed Justin would die loving you.”
“And hating me, all at once,” Shelby sighed. “Justin thinks I slept with someone else. He believed my father and a crony of his, and I’ve never been able to make him listen. As if I could have let any other man touch me, ever!”
Abby stared at her, momentarily distracted. “Oh, Shelby,” she whispered.
Shelby grimaced. “Stubborn, proud, hardheaded man.” Her eyes lifted. “I’d die for him.”
“I hope it works out someday.”
The older woman sighed. “Miracles still happen occasionally.” She searched Abby’s eyes. “Will you be all right now?”
Abby
