"I'm his… his… wife."
Marcie wasn't sure what prompted her to tell such a bold-faced lie. Probably because it was convenient and would swiftly scare off this woman. She was certain that in his more sane and sober days, Chase would have had nothing to do with a tramp like this. His marital status certainly didn't break the girl's heart. It merely provoked her.
She propped a fist on one hip. "That son of a bitch. Look, he never told me he was married, okay? I was out for kicks, that's all.
Nothing serious. Even though he is kinda moody, he's good-looking, you know?
"When I first met him, I thought he was a drag. I mean, he never wanted to talk or anything.
But then, I figured, 'Hey, what the hell?
So he's not a barrel of laughs, at least he's handsome.'
"Swear to God, we only slept together three times, and it was always straight sex. Nothing kinky, you know? I mean, missionary position all the way.
"Between you and me," she added, lowering her voice, "it wasn't very good. He was drunk all three times. As you well know, the equipment is impressive, but—"
Marcie's mouth was dry. She drew upon reserves of composure she didn't know she had. "I think you'd better go now. Chase needs his rest."
"Sure, I understand," she said pleasantly, pulling her coat back on.
"Please tell his friends that he's going to be okay, though his rodeo days might be over. At least for a while."
"That reminds me," the girl said. "Pete said to tell him that he's leaving in the trailer for Calgary tomorrow. That's where he's from, you know? I think it's somewhere in Canada, but I always thought Calgary had something to do with the Bible." She shrugged, almost lifting her breasts out of the sweater's low neckline. "Anyway, Pete wants to know what to do with Chase's stuff."
Marcie shook her head, trying to make sense of the woman's nonsensical chatter. "I suppose you could mail it to him at home."
"Okay. What's the address? I'll give it to
Pete."
"I'm not—" Marcie broke off before she trapped herself in her lie. "On second thought, please ask Pete to leave everything with the
officials at the coliseum. I'll pick up Chase's things there tomorrow."
"Okay, I'll tell him. Well, see ya. Oh, wait!"
She dug into her purse. "Here's Chase's keys.
His pickup is still parked in the lot at the coliseum." She tossed the key ring to Marcie.
"Thank you." Marcie made a diving catch before the keys could land in Chase's vulnerable lap.
"I'm really sorry about, you know, balling your husband. He never told me he was married.
Men! They're all bastards, you know?"
Marcie couldn't quite believe the woman had been real and stood staring at the door for several moments after it closed behind her. Was Chase reduced to seeing women like that to ward off his loneliness and despair brought on by Tanya's death? Was he punishing himself for her death by sinking as low as he could go?
Marcie moved to the narrow closet and placed the key ring on the shelf beside the chamois gloves he'd been wearing when he was thrown from the bull. His battered hat was there, too. She noticed a pair of scuffed cowboy boots standing on the closet floor.
His clothes had been hung on the few hangers provided. The light-blue shirt was streaked with dirt. His entry number was still pinned to it. His faded jeans were dusty. So was the cloth bandanna that had been tied around his neck. She touched the leather chaps and remembered their flapping against his legs as they sawed up and down against the bull's heaving sides.
The recollection caused her to shiver. She shut the closet door against the memory of Chase's lying unconscious in the dirt.
Returning to the bed, she noticed his hand moving restlessly over the tight bandage around his rib cage.
Afraid he might hurt himself, she captured his hand and drew it down to his side, patting it into place beside his hip and holding it there.
His eyes fluttered open. Obviously disoriented, he blinked several times in an attempt to get his bearings and remember where he was.
Then he seemed to recognize her. Reassuringly, she closed her fingers tightly around his. He tried to speak, but the single word came out as nothing more than a faint croak.
Still, she recognized his pet name for her.
Right before drifting back into oblivion he had said, "Goosey?"
He was giving a nurse hell when
Marcie walked into the hospital room the following morning. He suspended the invective long enough to do a double take on
Marcie, then resumed his complaining.
"You'll feel so much better after a bath and a shave," the nurse said cajolingly.
"Get your hands off me. Leave that cover where it is. I told you I don't want a bath.
When I feel good and ready, I'll shave myself.
Now, for the last time, get the hell out of here and leave me alone so I can get dressed."
"Dressed? Mr. Tyler, you can't leave!"
"Oh, yeah? Watch me."
It was time to intervene. Marcie said, "Perhaps after Mr. Tyler has had a cup of coffee he'll feel more like shaving."
The nurse welcomed the subtle suggestion that she leave. With a swish of white polyester and the squeak of rubber soles, she was gone. Marcie was left alone with Chase. His face was as dark as a thundercloud. It had little to do with his stubble or the bruise on his jaw.
"I thought I had dreamed you," he remarked.
"No. As you can see, I'm really here. Flesh and blood."
"But what the hell is your flesh and blood doing here?"
She poured him a cup of coffee from a thermal carafe and scooted it across the portable bed tray toward him, guessing correctly that he drank it black. Absently, he picked up the cup and sipped.
"Well?"
"Well, by a quirk of coincidence," Marcie said, "I was at the rodeo last night when you danced with that bull."
"What were you doing in Fort Worth in the first place?"
"Clients. A couple is moving here from the
Northeast. They're going to live in Fort Worth, but have been shopping lake-front property near Milton Point for a weekend retreat. I
drove over yesterday to do some stroking. Last night I treated them to a Mexican dinner, then for entertainment, took them to the rodeo.
They were exposed to a few more chills and thrills than I bargained for."
"A thrill a minute," he grumbled, wincing as he tried to find a more comfortable position against the pillows stacked behind him.
"Are you still in pain?"
"No. I feel great." The white line encircling his lips said otherwise, but she didn't argue.
"That explains what you were doing at the rodeo. What were you doing here? In the hospital?"
"I've known you for a long time, Chase.
There was no one else around to see about you. Your family would never have forgiven me if I hadn't come with you to the hospital. I
would never have forgiven myself."
He set aside his empty coffee cup. "That was you last night, squeezing my hand?" She nodded. Chase looked away. "I thought…
thought…" He drew a deep sigh, which caused him to grimace again. "Crazy stuff."
"You thought it was Tanya?"
At the mention of her name his eyes sprang back to Marcie's. She was relieved. She no longer had to dread speaking his late wife's name aloud for the first time. It was out now.
Just like going off the high-diving board, the first time was the hardest. It got easier after that.
But seeing the pain in his eyes, as though he had been poked with a deadly needle, Marcie wondered if Chase would ever get over
Tanya's tragic death.
"Would you like some more coffee?"
"No. What I would like," he enunciated, "is a drink."
Though it was no laughing matter, Marcie treated it as a joke. "At eight o'clock in the morning?"
"I've started earlier," he muttered. "Will you drive me somewhere to get a bottle?"
"Certainly not!"
"Then I'll have to call somebody else." At great expense to his threshold of pain, he reached for the telephone on the nightstand.
"If you're planning to call Pete the clown, it won't do you any good. He's leaving for Calgary today."
Chase lowered his hands and looked at her.
"How do you know?"
"A friend of yours told me. She came here last night to see about you when you didn't show up for your post rodeo date. Big hair.
Big boobs. I didn't get her name."
"That's okay. I didn't either," he admitted.
Marcie said nothing. He studied her calm face for a moment. "What, no sermon?"
"Not from me."
He harrumphed. "Wish you'd talk to my family about preaching. They love to preach.
They're all in on the act of saving me from myself. I just want to be left the hell alone."
"They love you."
"It's my life!" he cried angrily. "Where do any of them get off telling me how to live it, huh? Especially Lucky." He snorted in an uncomplimentary way. "Until Devon came along, he had the busiest zipper in East Texas. Nailed anybody who moved and probably a few who didn't.
Now he's so bloody righteous it's sickening."
"But I believe his… er, zipper is as busy as ever." That brought his eyes up to hers again. "Every time I see Devon, she's smiling."
Her composure was incongruent with the bawdiness of the topic. In light of that, it was difficult for him to remain angry. Although his scowl stayed in place, a fleeting grin lifted one corner of his lips. "You're all right, Goosey.
A real good sport."
She rolled her eyes. "Every woman's secret ambition."
"I meant that as a compliment."
"Then thanks."
"While we're still on good terms, why don't you exercise your super brain, do the smart thing, and leave me where you found me?"
"What kind of friend would I be if I deserted you in your time of need?"
"It's because we've always been friends that
I'm asking you to leave. If you stick around for long, something really terrible might happen.
Something I'd hate."
"Like what?" she asked with a light laugh.
"I'm liable to make us enemies."
Her expression turned serious. "Never,