Slow Waltz Across Texas. Peggy Moreland
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and the nurses had wound surgical tape around the ring, sealing it against her finger.
Realizing the significance of the missing ring, Clayton swallowed hard and shifted his gaze to hers to find her still glaring at him.
She quickly shifted Brittany to her hip and reached for Brandon. But Clayton turned away, preventing her from taking his son from him, as well. He hefted the boy up into his arms, but kept his gaze on his wife. “Hello, Rena.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you doing here, Clayton?”
“I came to take my family back home where they belong.”
Brittany clapped a palm against her mother’s cheek and forced her face to hers. “Are we goin’ home, Mommy?” she asked, her eyes wide with hope.
Rena caught her daughter’s hand in hers and pressed a kiss against the center of the tiny palm, before offering her a soft smile of regret. “No, darling.”
Brittany pushed her lips out into a pout. “But I wanna go home.”
“Me, too,” Brandon complained, echoing his sister’s sentiments.
Rena leaned over and lovingly brushed a lock of blond hair from her son’s forehead. “But the ranch isn’t our home any longer,” she reminded him gently. “Remember? We’re staying with Nonnie and Pawpaw for a few days, then we’re moving to a home of our own.”
Brandon slipped an arm around Clayton’s neck. “But what about Daddy?” he asked uncertainly. “Isn’t he going to move with us, too?”
Rena’s gaze flicked to Clayton’s, then quickly back to her son’s. “No, sweetheart,” she said gently, though Clayton was sure he heard a quaver in her voice. “Daddy’s home is at the ranch.”
Brittany thrust out her lower lip and turned to look at her father. “But the ranch is our home, too, isn’t it, Daddy?”
Clayton cleared his throat, not sure he could work a sound past the emotion that tightened his throat. “It sure is, baby.”
Rena snapped her gaze to his, and he could see the anger, the resentment in the brown depths. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is, Clayton,” she warned in a low voice.
He lifted a shoulder. “You’re the one who uprooted the kids. Not me.”
Brittany’s hand pressed against her mother’s cheek again, turning her face to hers. “What’s uprooted mean, Mommy?”
Forcing a smile for her daughter’s sake, Rena tickled Brittany’s tummy, making her giggle. “It means I dug you up out of the dirt like I would a tree,” she teased, then swung her daughter up high in the air, making her squeal.
“Do me, Mommy!” Brandon cried, stretching his arms out to his mother. Rena took him from Clayton and wrapped her arms around both her children, clutching them to her breasts. She spun in a fast, dizzying circle, until all three collapsed onto the soft grass in a tangle of legs and arms, laughing.
Clayton tucked his own empty hands beneath his armpits and watched his wife and children roll around on the grass, feeling like a kid with his nose pressed up against the candy store window, with no means to purchase the sweets displayed inside. He wanted so badly to join them, to romp and play with them on the sweet-smelling grass.
But a lifetime of suppressing his feelings, of standing on the sidelines and wishing, his heart near bursting with the need to feel loved, to feel a part of a family, kept Clayton’s boots glued to that spot of grass where he stood, his hands, empty and aching, still tucked tightly beneath his armpits.
Clayton stood on the patio of his in-laws’ house, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, staring up at the dark sky. The night was unseasonably cool, but he preferred the chill in the air to the frigid looks he received inside the house. His in-laws didn’t care for him. Never had. But then, he didn’t care much for them, either.
With a weary sigh, he dropped his chin to his chest and settled his gaze on the toe of his boot as he chipped at the patio’s gray slate surface. He supposed he could understand their coolness. They’d had big plans for their only daughter. A life of luxury and refinement much like their own.
And she’d gone off and gotten herself knocked up by some rodeo cowboy.
Yeah, he thought, his sigh heavier this time as he turned his gaze up to the moon. He supposed he could understand the Palmers’ dislike for him.
The French door behind him opened, and he tensed as he listened to the soft tread of footsteps approaching. He knew without looking it was Rena. The scent of her reached him first, and he inhaled deeply, quietly, savoring it. Lord, but he loved the smell of her. Sweet. Feminine. Seductive.
She came to a stop beside him and tipped her face up to the stars, hugging her arms tightly beneath her breasts. “It’s cold out here,” she said with a shiver.
Clayton glanced her way, then shrugged out of his jacket and turned to drape it around her shoulders. She looked up at him in surprise at the gesture, then slowly caught the lapels of the jacket and pulled them around her. He wasn’t sure if it was the suddenness of his movement or the kindness in the act that drew her surprised look. But he wouldn’t ask. He never did. He’d learned years ago never to question. The answers almost always ended up hurting.
When the silence continued to stretch between them, she turned her face away, her mouth dipping into a frown as if he’d disappointed her somehow. Stifling yet another sigh, Clayton turned his gaze back to the sky. They stood side by side though not touching, both staring at the dark star-studded sky. Minutes ticked by, the silence growing heavier and heavier between them.
“Clayton, I—”
“Rena, I—”
They spoke simultaneously, their words tangling. They glanced at each other, then away again, both pressing their lips together in annoyance.
“Go ahead,” Clayton said gruffly. “You first.”
Rena gave her chin a stubborn lift. “No, you,” she insisted. “I’ve had my say.”
Clayton angled his head to look at her, his eyes wide. “You’ve had your say?” he repeated. “A voice mail message telling me that you’re leaving me and taking the kids with you is all you have to say to me after more than four years of marriage?”
She pulled the jacket more closely around her, refusing to look at him. “It’s more than you’ve had to say to me in months.”
He brought his hands to his hips as he glared down at her. “Maybe so, but I wasn’t planning on leaving you,” he said, first thrusting his thumb against his chest, then leveling an accusing finger at her. “And if I was, I sure as hell would’ve given you more warning than a lousy voice mail message.”
Infuriated that he would assume the part of the injured party in their relationship, Rena whirled on him. “And what kind of warning would you have liked, Clayton? Would you have preferred that I’d kicked and screamed and thrown temper tantrums, demanding that you come home so that I could tell you in person that I was leaving you?”
“You’re not that kind of woman. You don’t throw fits. Never have.”
Her eyes blazed with newfound fury. “And how would you know what kind of woman I am? You were always off at another rodeo and never stayed around long enough to find out.” She gave his chest a push and, off balance, he stumbled back a step. She surged forward. “But then, maybe you would have preferred that I loaded up the kids and chased you across the country so that I could tell you face-to-face that I was leaving you. Maybe you would have enjoyed a more public scene than the privacy of a voice mail message.”
When she reached out to give him another angry shove, he stood his ground and grabbed her hand, capturing it in his. “I didn’t expect you do anything but stay at home where you belong.”
“Where I belong?” she repeated