Bull By The Horns [Wayback Texas] Page 7

  Naturally. She dragged her hand through her hair.

  Taylor Creighton was in Crushin'. Well. That explained his sense of rhythm.

  The noise level in her class brought her out of her shock, and she called them together for a math lesson, trying to put the picture out of her head.

  But as soon as the class went out for PE, she hunkered down in front of her computer and started Googling.

  Many of the sites were blocked by her district's filtering system, but she was able to discover that Taylor Creighton was twenty-seven now, twenty when he'd been in the boy band, so baby-faced, so slender. And wow, had he made bad fashion choices. Yeesh.

  How had he gone from singing songs like “Love Me ‘Til the End of Time” and “Goin’ Crazy Tonight"—obnoxious earworms, both of them—to wrestling steers in a small town rodeo?

  And why was he working...?

  Of course, he wasn't working on a ranch. He didn't sleep in a bunkhouse, despite that battered truck and old RV. Her heart sank inexplicably when she realized her fantasy had only been, well, a fantasy. Instead of working on a ranch, no doubt he owned it.

  Everything she thought she knew about him was wrong. She couldn't even say he'd lied to her because he hadn't told her anything. He'd neatly deflected any conversation that headed that way.

  When they had talked.

  She closed out the window and sat back on her rolling chair. Gertrude was right in more ways than she knew. Lavender had been a complete idiot over Taylor Creighton.

  When she went home, though, she couldn't stay away from the computer, looking up old videos—the boy could dance—buying a couple of downloaded songs and trying to pick out his voice, that same low voice even at his young age.

  She even found a couple of videos of interviews. His mannerisms were so different, so big and effusive. If not for the glint in his eyes, she wouldn't have believed Jerri.

  The band broke up six years ago and Lavender couldn't find any information on Taylor Creighton after that, until speculation ran rampant the past few months, everything from whether he'd died in some horrible manner to wondering if he'd become a woman. Definitely not that.

  She Googled Taylor Craig, and the first thing she could find on him was last year. What had happened in the intervening years?

  She searched for more lurid information—scandals, gossip, anything that would explain why the band broke up. But any information was buried.

  Why this discovery hurt, she couldn't say. Clearly he didn't want anyone to make the connection or he wouldn't have changed his name. It wasn't personal.

  But nothing about this relationship was personal, was it?

  She shut off the computer, climbed into bed and cried herself to sleep.

  * * * *

  She busied herself with end of school activities—field day, field trips, kindergarten graduation. She didn't go back to the rodeo or the Blue Bug, but she did continue dance lessons with Roxie. She couldn't believe she'd tried to dance with a member of Crushin'.

  She didn't think of Taylor more than a dozen times a day.

  She was back in her life. This was where she belonged, not in a romance, in a relationship, in a cowboy's bed.

  But summer loomed. Empty. Scary. Lonely.

  Eleanor hadn't taken off yet, and finding her at the breakfast table was less of a surprise every morning. Lavender had to guard herself against complacency, because she knew that the moment she weakened and let her mother back into her heart—bam. As it was, Eleanor worked at becoming a part in their lives, wanting to run Gertrude on errands, but Lavender blocked her as often as possible. She saw her grandmother softening toward Eleanor and worried that Gertrude would be the one hurt this time.

  At least Eleanor had let Roxie fix those awful gray roots and even out the ends of her hair, though Eleanor protested the loss of the length. Gertrude bought her new sandals and blouses that didn't display her large breasts quite so much. Lavender's grandmother even paid to tune up the station wagon that would take Eleanor out of their lives again.

  Every day Lavender came home expecting to find Eleanor gone and Gertrude crying.

  Her heart lurched the last Friday before school was out when she pulled into the driveway to find the station wagon gone. She left her purse in the car and bolted into the house. Panic tightened her chest when she could find neither Gertrude nor Eleanor. She thundered up the stairs to Eleanor's room.

  Her things were still strewn about. Lavender allowed a small sigh of relief to escape and leaned against the door, trying to reason out where the women could be.

  Downstairs, a door slammed open.

  "Lavender, could you move your car from the driveway so we don't have to carry the groceries in from the street?” Eleanor called.

  Grocery shopping. That's where they'd been. Eleanor again, trying to worm her way back into Gertrude's good graces. Taking a deep breath, Lavender headed down the stairs, ready to lay into her mother.

  But Gertrude's smile brought her up short. Could she ask her grandmother not to enjoy her time with her daughter because of how it would hurt when Eleanor left? How much of a hypocrite would that make her? Gertrude deserved to be happy for the time she had with her daughter, didn't she?

  So she swallowed her arguments and marched out to the car to put it in the street.

  * * * *

  Taylor tightened his hands on the steering wheel as he pulled into the Wayback city limits. He hadn't been so anxious about seeing a woman again in—well, ever. He didn't come back to women.

  But he'd been counting the days before he came back to this one. He'd even come up two days early.

  He drove Angelina to the rodeo grounds, got her settled into the stall, and headed for the school.

  The parking lot was almost empty. He frowned. Hadn't she told him today was her last day of school? Where was everyone? Why hadn't he gotten her number and given her a call?

  But no, there was her Toyota, at the end of the lot. He pulled in next to it and waited.

  Even in the shade of the live oak, the cab of the truck heated up in the afternoon sun, so he got out of the truck and sat on the hood to wait.

  Just when he thought he'd have to go in after her, she walked out, paused on the steps to paw through her bag, pulled out her keys and started down the steps again.

  Then she saw him and stopped. Froze. He slid off the truck and waited for her to move again, to run into his arms. When she didn't, only approaching him slowly, well, he couldn't say why he was so disappointed.

  She stopped in front of him and shifted her bag on her shoulder. “You're back early."

  Okay, this was not the welcome he'd hoped for. Had he done something wrong? “Is that bad?"

  She smiled, but it wasn't the smile he'd gotten that Saturday night. He wanted that smile, and was thrown. He couldn't remember how to coax it out. Why couldn't he remember?

  "I missed you.” He stepped forward, wanting to touch her, to kiss her, satisfied himself with stroking a finger down her sleeve. Only that wasn't satisfying at all. He reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips touch her skin, so soft. That he remembered. He bent in for a kiss.

  Then she ducked. “I had onions on my hamburger at lunch."

  "I don't care.” He had to taste her, wouldn't let her back away, caught her little moan with his mouth.

  Yes. She parted her lips and tilted his head, welcoming him. He ran his fingertips up and down the back of her neck, just kissing, tasting, remembering. But when he slid his hand down her spine to pull her closer, she broke away.

  "I'm sweaty. I've been working in my room.” And then she lifted her gaze to his, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I didn't think I'd see you today."

  "Let's go somewhere.” He eased back and took her hand.

  She pulled her hand away. “Taylor. I'm filthy."

  Disappointment weighed down on him. He wanted to hear her voice, hear her laugh. He wanted to touch her, kiss her.

  "Okay, I
'll tell you what. You go home, get cleaned up. I'll come get you in an hour."

  When she still hesitated, a thought struck him.

  "Did you have something else going on tonight?” She hadn't been expecting him. Did she have a date?

  She smiled, still not his smile, but a softer, more relaxed one. “No. I just imagined this differently. Me not sweaty and dirty, for one."

  He smiled and curled his fingers around the back of her neck again. “You look gorgeous. And you've kissed me when I was sweaty and dirty."

  She moved toward her car. “An hour and a half, okay?"

  "Lavender. You don't have to be perfect for me. You know that."

  "An hour and a half, okay?” she repeated, opening the car door and tossing her bag inside. Then she turned back to him, pulled his head down and kissed him hard before jumping in her car.

  He grinned as she drove away.

  * * * *

  An hour and a half was barely enough time to do what he needed to do, and he pulled up in front of her house ten minutes late, wishing he'd had time for a shower himself.

  Lavender didn't answer his knock. An older woman in a long denim skirt and a Las Vegas T-shirt did.

  "Mrs. Prouty. I'm Taylor Craig.” He offered his hand and resisted the urge to look past her for Lavender. Instead, he met her mother's inspection, looking for traces of Lavender in her mother's life-worn features.

  "The rodeo cowboy.” Judgment colored her voice.

  "Yes, ma'am.” She didn't have Lavender's pretty brown eyes, or her pretty smile. He saw the shape of Lavender's face, her nose, but none of her spirit. Would Lavender become this woman if she didn't find something to help keep the joy in her life?

  Could he help her keep it?

  The thought jolted him more than the sight of Lavender coming down the stairs, pretty in a pink scoop-necked blouse and calf length jeans, pink sandals. He took a step toward her before he remembered her mother was in his way. So he rocked back and stayed on the porch. There was the smile he'd been waiting for, just for him, and something loosened in his chest, a tension he hadn't realized he felt.

  "Ready to go?” he asked pointlessly.

  She put her hand on her mother's shoulder, eased her aside. “Don't wait up."

  But as Taylor took her hand, he sensed her carefree attitude was all for show. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  Her fingers tightened. “Let's just go, okay?"

  He watched her face, saw the tight lines around her mouth. He knew she had issues with her mother, but not the details. Instead of questioning her, he took the coward's way and held his truck door open.

  "Where are we going?” she asked, tilting the vent toward her.

  He watched the air blow her hair back from her face. She closed her eyes in appreciation and his mouth dried at the pleasure in her expression. He shifted to ease the heaviness in his groin and put the truck into drive.

  "A picnic. I found the perfect place."

  She turned with a smile. “The quarry?"

  "Uh.” So much for his surprise. “Yeah."

  "There aren't that many picnic places around,” she said in response to his reaction.

  "Took me some time to find, once I asked the lady at the bakery for a good spot."

  She slid him a look. “You went to the bakery?"

  "And the Dixie Pig.” He nodded toward the basket in the back of the cab. “I couldn't find a regular picnic basket but they had some leftover Easter baskets. I might've overdone it. I was kinda hungry."

  She smiled. “What'd you get at the bakery?"

  "The lady there said you liked the brownies."

  She blushed. “You told Daisy who you were taking?"

  "Should I not have?"

  "Doesn't matter. You want to turn here."

  He gave his attention to the road. “Huh. That's not the way I got here before."

  "Trust me."

  So he turned and got to the shady quarry overlook in half the time as before. But when he was shaking the tablecloth out onto the ground, he could have sworn he heard her humming something familiar.

  And not the song they'd danced to at the Blue Bug.

  A song he hoped he'd never hear again. How did she find out? He looked at her sharply. “What's that?"

  She knelt at the edge of the tablecloth and blinked at him innocently. “What?"

  "What you're humming."

  "Sound familiar?” She unpacked the French bread, deli sliced turkey, cheese and tomatoes and a bag of chips.

  He dropped onto his ass and looped his arms over his knees. “How'd you find out?"

  "Jerri, the blonde from the Blue Bug, recognized you.” She reached in the oversized bag she'd brought and pulled out one of those damned teen magazines, already bent open to a page with the members of Crushin’ spread across the page.

  "Ah, hell."

  Her eyebrows winged up over bright eyes. “You were pretty cute."

  He rolled his eyes. He didn't want that complicated part of his life mixed with the pleasant simplicity of being here with her. “Lavender, I don't want—it's not something I'm proud of."

  She sank onto her bottom, her legs folded to the side as she flipped the magazine closed. “I just want to know how you went from this to, well, this."

  "I don't talk about it.” He picked up a bottle opener for the wine.

  "Oh.” She rolled up the magazine to tuck it back in her bag, but he reached for it and flung it over the lip of the quarry.

  She stared, and heat crept up his own neck. But she didn't say anything, just took the knife from the basket and sliced the bread.

  "It was an opportunity,” he blurted, stopping with the cork half out of the bottle. Okay, so he'd never hold up under torture, not when Lavender's silence made him cave. “I'd tried to get into acting, and it never went through. But some scouts saw me, approached my parents, and they signed me up."

  "How old were you?"

  "Fifteen."

  She peered up at him, still making the sandwiches. “But not your choice."

  He sighed and looked out over the open land. “At the time, I thought it would be cool. All that money, all those girls. Then I ended up being the family breadwinner, and the bread just wasn't enough, you know?"

  She set down the loaf and watched him now, but didn't speak. Her silence was no longer a pressure, but an offering for him to talk. He hadn't talked to anyone about this in, well, ever. He finished opening the bottle of wine, set it aside to let it breathe, and leaned back on his hands.

  "At first, you know, it was a big deal. Photographers and girls and people throwing money at us, pretty much. We didn't have to go to school, we had tutors, but no one was really strict about it. We saw all these places we'd never thought we'd see, and we had this incredible freedom.

  "But the more popular we got, the less freedom we had. The less we saw, the less we could go out. It was just hotel to venue to airport, alternating with home to recording studio to dance studio, and it was exhausting, and boring."

  "And you couldn't stop."

  The empathy in her tone surprised him. “I couldn't stop,” he repeated. “My dad had quit his job, my mom had moved the family into this huge house that we never would have been able to even drive past before I joined the band. If I quit, we would lose everything."

  "You were just a kid."

  "With way more earning potential than either of my parents."

  "So what happened?"

  He shrugged. “The inevitable. We got too old, stopped being marketable. Boy bands went out of fashion."

  "And you lost everything?"

  He blew a breath out his nose. “I know you hear those stories about parents mismanaging kids’ money like that, but my dad was pretty smart. He knew it couldn't last forever, and he sure didn't want to go back to work. He invested it well. We did sell the house in California, though, and my parents and three younger brothers moved into a smaller, though still very nice place, and I bought my ranch."

&
nbsp; "Why a ranch?” she asked.

  He looked over at her then. That wasn't the direction he'd expected her to go, but okay. “I had a friend, an actor, who had a place out in Alpine. I went out there a few times, fell in love with it, and bought a ranch."

  "And the rodeo thing?"

  "It just seemed to fit. And I guess I just can't stay out of the spotlight."

  "Though you managed to for six years."

  "Yeah, I'd kinda missed out on the ‘finding myself’ years."

  "Is that why you aren't planning to be a part of the reunion tour?"

  He nodded. That and so much more. He was a different person now, had nothing in common with the men he'd grown up with. Didn't want to have anything in common with them.

  She passed him a sandwich he hadn't realized she'd finished constructing. “What about your parents? Do you still get along with them?"

  He choked out a laugh. “Not that I ever did, much, but yeah, we can tolerate each other pretty well. They live up near Redwood City. That's far enough, I think."

  "And the rodeo thing? Do they get it?"

  "Not many do.” He bit into his sandwich. Good. Just the right balance.

  "What about the other guys? Are you still in touch with them?"

  He fished a napkin out of the basket. “We were glad to get away from each other, there at the end. So, no. No friends from the old life.” And not too many from the new.

  "The truck, the trailer, the RV, that's all just to blend in."

  "Why draw attention to myself when no one else on this circuit who scores like I do, makes the money it would take to drive a shiny new truck?” The horse trailer was in the best shape of his belongings, only because he couldn't see Angelina having to suffer because of his pride. “I want to be noticed for what I do now, not who I was."

  She retrieved the wine glasses and poured, handed him a glass and saluted him with her own. “To Taylor Craig."

  He clinked his glass with hers. “And new friends.” But even as he drank, he wondered how many other people knew who he was.

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  Chapter Nine

  Lavender watched the rise and fall of Taylor's chest as he slept. He sprawled on his back, one hand flung above his head, his knuckles resting on the headboard. He'd gotten a room at The Corral instead of bringing his RV, and he'd invited her to stay. While Lavender had trepidations about spending the night and being the talk of the town, she was determined to take the bull by the horns and grab what happiness she could while she could.