MADE IN TEXAS Page 8

  John ignored the comment. He sat down in the chair vacated by Addie earlier, and opened his drink. He didn't so much as glance at the pile of notebooks two inches away from his elbow. "I was married once."

  "You were?" Somehow Cal couldn't picture it. He'd worked with this man, side by side, for almost twenty years, and he'd never known much about John's personal life. "When?"

  "Oh, a long time ago. I admit, I wasn't real good at it."

  "What happened? If you don't mind my asking." He sat at the table and stretched his legs out in front of him. John would take his time telling the story, of course.

  "Naw, I don't mind. I was sure in love, and she was a sweet girl," he said. "I met her at a dance and we hit it off just fine. Got married 'bout a year later. Got a little ranch near San Marcos, but there was no pleasing her. She got a little strange and then up and left one day." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that, she was gone. I used to wonder what I did wrong—I wondered for years—but things have a way of working out. I've learned that much."

  "What does that mean, 'things have a way of working out'?"

  Old John shrugged. "They just do. I'm not gonna go into details here, son. I'm just trying to tell you that getting married might do you some good. And our Miss Addie here could sure as hell use a good man by her side."

  "That's some story." Cal shook his head. "You tell me about your unhappy marriage and then you tell me I ought to think about it myself. Does that make any sense?"

  "Of course not." The old man looked offended. "There's nothing about falling in love that makes any sense, Cal. That's what I'm trying to tell you!"

  "Well, damn it, you won't get any argument from me."

  John grinned. "You ever been in love?"

  "Sure."

  "Ha!"

  "You don't believe me?"

  "Hell, no! Unless you wuz just a kid when it happened." He took a long swallow from the soda can. "No, when you fall, you're gonna fall hard. And something tells me that I'm going to be around to watch it."

  "Don't hold your breath, old man." But Cal's gaze went to the window above the table where, above the tree line, he could see the second story of the main house. John was right, but a man had his pride.

  Even if that was all he did have.

  * * *

  "It's like that television show, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, only just the opposite," Addie told Kate. She had the portable phone outside so she could talk in private.

  "Honey, have you been drinking rum and Cokes again?" Kate laughed. "Or maybe the paint fumes are getting to you."

  "Very funny. No, you should see this." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "There are five painters and they're all gorgeous. And possibly straight."

  "Possibly?"

  "It's not like I can ask. They started yesterday and they're really fast, so if you want to see them, you'll have to come up this week. But you have to promise you won't distract them too much. I really want to get these rooms done."

  "I thought you were busy with a plumber."

  "He's next week, I hope. He keeps calling and rescheduling, so I don't know. Calls himself the 'Yellow Hose of Texas.'"

  "You're making that up."

  "I swear, it's painted on his truck. A bright yellow hose with water gushing from one end. Very phallic."

  "Speaking of phallic," Kate said, when she had stopped laughing. "How's your ranch hand?"

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  By Thursday morning Cal had seen all he'd wanted to of the house painters. They'd arrived early on Monday, and piled out of their vans as if they were the answers to a woman's prayers. And since then, Addie had been in that house with them.

  Handsome and young, the men had strutted around in white shorts and tank tops spattered with paint. Their music, sometimes salsa, sometimes classical, wafted from the open windows of the big house. And Addie hadn't left the place since they'd arrived. Her friend Kate came one afternoon, though. John reported seeing her car.

  Cal thought Addie would have stopped by his place again. He'd bought margarita mix and tequila, fancy instant tea mix and fresh lemons. He went over Ed's notebooks until his eyesight blurred, and he kept his place even cleaner than he usually did, just in case she knocked on the door and wanted to ask about cows.

  But she didn't come by, and he blamed the painters for her absence. She was preoccupied with singing strangers, men who might take advantage of a widow lady with a fat checkbook. So by lunchtime on Thursday, Cal couldn't help but wander over to the big house. Let those fancy painters see that a man was looking out for Mrs. Larson. He gathered up Ed's books and his own notes and, in clean clothes, headed over to check things out for himself. It was his duty, he told himself. He was the manager around here.

  "Addie?" He knocked on the kitchen door, but doubted she could hear him. There was music playing somewhere, and the painters were still here, their vans parked next to Addie's wagon on the east side of the house. He opened the screen door and called to her again. "Addie? It's Cal."

  He stopped once he'd entered. The room was different, with fresh, cream paint and fancy red-and-white curtains. The big table was still there, but a vase of flowers sat in its center and fancy, red placemats covered some of its scarred surface, which was now polished and smelling like lemons. After setting the account books at the end of the table, Cal crossed the room and peered into the living area, once Ed's cluttered den, and realized that this, too, was freshly painted and clean.

  * * *

  "Addie? You home?"

  "We arrrh all uppa heayh!" It was a man's voice. Cal heard laughter above the music—some kind of opera, he figured—and he rounded the corner to the foyer and headed up the stairs. He hesitated at the top.

  "Addie?"

  "Inna heayh!" This time the male voice was followed by Addie's laughter. He turned into her bedroom and saw her up on a ladder, her waist being held by the large, hairy hands of a grinning painter.

  "Ah," the man said. "You hava more company inna your bedroom, Adelaide."

  Cal frowned. Adelaide perched on the top of that ladder and held a long piece of green-flowered fabric as she looked down at him.

  "Hi, Cal. I'm trying to decide on curtains."

  "Maybe you'd better come down," he said. "Let the painter there hold the stuff while you look."

  "I was trying to match the color," she said. "To see if it was really a mint green, or had more sea foam undertones."

  "Mint," the black-haired painter said, his hands still on her waist and dropping perilously close to her hips. "Absolutely mint, my darling."

  Cal glared at him and the man's eyebrows rose. "You like the color?" he asked Cal.

  "Yeah, it's fine." My darling, my ass. "Get down, Addie. You're making me nervous."

  "I'm fine," she told him, but she did move her legs and started the descent. The painter released her waist, and Cal stationed himself at the bottom of the ladder. He set his own hands on her waist and guided her, but he didn't step back when she turned to face him. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, giving her a brief kiss on the cheek.

  "Let's see, sweetheart," he drawled, as if they were alone together in her bedroom every day. "What color have you picked for us now?"

  "Cal—" Her eyes narrowed. "What are you—"

  "I'm sorry I'm late," he interrupted. "It won't happen again. Show me the curtains and let the men get back to work. I'm sure they want to finish after being here all week."

  "They finished ten minutes ago. They're packing up now."

  "Good." Cal knew damn well what one of them was doing, and that was coming on to Addie. He bet the guy used that ladder move on all the women he painted for. He eyed the guy again, but the man just winked at him and called something in another language to the rest of the workers. "Where are they from?"

  "New York. They're Italian. They got tired of the cold weather up north and moved the whole business here," she explained. "Didn't they do a
wonderful job?"

  He kept his hands on her shoulders. "Took them long enough."

  "It's a big house." She looked up at him and began to laugh, so he lifted her by the waist and swung her around gently, removing her from the ladder and the watching painters. She went pale right before his eyes. He watched the color drain out of her face, and she blinked twice and clung to his shoulders.

  "Addie?"

  "Put me down." Which he did, on the bed.

  "Señora?" The largest painter approached the bed, and the other one hovered nearby.

  "I'm fine," she assured them, but she dropped her head between her knees while Cal crouched at her feet.

  "I'll take care of her." Cal nodded toward the men and they got the message: leave quickly and quietly and let me take care of my woman. The music stopped, and for a few minutes Cal heard the noise of the men gathering their equipment and carrying it downstairs and out the front door. "Addie? What's the matter?"

  "I guess I'm not good at heights." Her voice shook slightly, enough so he knew that she was still not feeling well.

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Nothing. It'll pass in a few minutes."

  "This happens a lot?"

  "Sometimes." She took a deep breath, but didn't lift her head. Cal put his hands on her knees and waited for her to explain. "It's a, uh, female thing."

  "Okay, so what can I do?" Female things were out of his area of expertise, all right.

  "How about a cold washcloth?"

  "Coming up." He hurried to the bathroom and found stacks of towels on a stand by the sink. The room smelled like fresh paint, an odor that probably had something to do with Addie's dizzy spell. But she'd looked pale at other times, too, which worried him. He wouldn't have thought of her as being delicate, but maybe keeping up with the twins was harder than he thought. John had told him they went to kindergarten in town now, for a few hours a day, which must help. They would be there now, he realized, or he would have seen them.

  He ran cold water over the cloth, squeezed the extra water out and returned to the bed. She looked up and smiled at him.

  "Don't look so worried," she said. "I'm better now."

  "The paint smell couldn't help." He gave her the washcloth and she put it over her forehead and eyes. "I'm going to open some more windows."

  "Okay."

  "Don't move, all right?"

  "I have to get the boys at two-thirty."

  "At school?" She nodded. "I'll get them. Can you lie down now?"

  "Good idea." Her smile was wobbly, but when she lifted the cloth from her face, he saw that some color had returned to her cheeks. "What do you think of the house? Didn't they do a great job?"

  "Yeah," he admitted, but when he thought of that laughing Italian's hands on Addie, he wasn't inclined to give compliments. "But I'm glad they're gone."

  "Me, too," she said, leaning back against the pillows. She sighed with contentment. "The rooms are beautiful, but it's been such a noisy week."

  "Get some rest," Cal said, longing to smooth the hair away from her face. But he stood beside the bed and kept his hands to himself. "I'll get the boys. The school's on Cedar Street

  , behind the Dairy Queen, right?"

  "Yes. Thank you."

  "Put the cloth back on your head." It was awkward, standing here looking down at Addie, who smiled as if he'd said something funny. "What?"

  "Don't make me kiss you," she replied, laughing up at him. And then the laughter stilled, as she seemed to realize what she had said.

  "Making fun of me again?" But he bent over and kissed her anyway. And what began as a brief gesture turned into all the words he couldn't say. I want you. I miss you. I wish I could hold you.

  "Not really." She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. He braced his arms on the side of her head and sat on the edge of the mattress, in the space made by the curve of her waist. And the kiss continued, hot and needy, with the surprising familiarity of kissing Addie when she lay on a bed.

  "You were acting all jealous and silly," she murmured against his mouth. "Mario was only being nice."

  "He had his hands all over you." Cal's own hands smoothed Addie's hair from her face and repositioned the washcloth.

  "What are you doing, Cal?"

  "Taking care of you."

  "That's not what I meant."

  "I know." He brushed his mouth against hers, this time as briefly as he could manage. She'd gone pale again, and when she opened her eyes to gaze up at him, he saw that she looked frightened. Of what? Him? "Addie," he tried, hoping he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. "It'll be okay."

  "I know. I'm fine," she whispered. "I don't like heights. Or the smell of paint."

  "Yeah," he said. "You just stay still for a while and get some rest." He knew she was just trying to convince herself that she wasn't letting herself be kissed. That she wasn't enjoying it. What he was doing, of course, though she might not want to see it, was falling in love with her. Making himself part of her life. Taking care of her.

  Cal left the bed, the room and the house. He found the keys to the station wagon hanging on the back porch and he drove to town to get those boys. Addie Larson might not want to admit it, but she needed a man in her life.

  In her bed and out of it, the man she needed was him.

  And he figured she knew it, too. When Addie wasn't pretending otherwise.

  * * *

  It happened again, of course. Addie knew it would, because she remembered how it was when she'd been pregnant before. The queasy feelings began to settle toward the afternoon, although the dizziness still came at odd, unpredictable times. She needed to be careful that she didn't spend too much time outside in the heat. And she'd arranged to have central air-conditioning installed Monday, so she'd have to make do with the ceiling fans for a few more days. The two air conditioners in the kitchen and the living room managed to keep the downstairs comfortable enough for cooking and eating, though she wondered how her father had survived in the heat of Texas summers.

  She gathered up the stack of account books and the pages of Cal's meticulously written notes—not that she could decipher much of his handwriting—and prepared to set out to find her number one ranch hand. She'd take the boys with her, two little whirlwinds designed to discourage intimate conversations between adults and guarantee any business discussions would be kept brief and to the point.

  Unfortunately, the heat got to her before she got to Cal.

  "Mommy?" Ian peered into her face as she sat down in the dust under a spindly tree. "You okay?"

  "Sure. Let's just sit here a minute." Matt plopped beside her and began to draw a road in the dirt, but Ian looked disappointed. He'd wanted to see Cal and maybe get another ride in the truck.

  "What about Mr. Cal?"

  "He's around somewhere. We'll find him." She closed her eyes, which immediately became a bad idea. So she opened them and focused on her fidgety son, and hoped she wouldn't faint. This was getting ridiculous. She didn't remember being this delicate with the twins. She'd been more like a tank that time, big as a house and mowing down anything in her path. Here she was, not even three months pregnant and unable to take ten steps without swooning. According to the doctor's calculations, she'd start feeling better in the second week of May, when her second trimester began. It couldn't start soon enough.

  Though it would come with its own set of problems, like an expanding stomach that would horrify those around her.

  Addie forced herself to breathe through her mouth, but the black spots in her vision wouldn't recede. "Ian, honey, do you see Mr. Cal anywhere?"

  "Nope." He kicked a dried chunk of horse dung. "Mr. John's in the barn. He waved to me when he went in, and I waved back. Can I go see 'im?"

  The barn. A place filled with more dangerous things than a medieval torture chamber, and ten times more appealing to small boys. Addie swallowed and knew she didn't have any choice. If she fainted out here, the boys might not go directly to John
, and then who knows what awful things could happen? Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead.

  "Ian, I want you to go get Mr. John for me, please." She grabbed his pant leg before he could run off. "Wait. Listen to me very carefully. Don't go near the horses. Go right to Mr. John and call his name when you get to the barn so he knows you're coming." So he doesn't run over you with a tractor, she wanted to add. "Tell him your mom needs a little help."

  "Me, too?" Poor Matt looked so hopeful, Addie hated to refuse him, but she didn't want both of them running off. They distracted each other.

  "No, sweetheart. I need you to stay here in case I need you to find Mr. Cal" she fibbed. She wasn't going to let her other small son go running off alone in the opposite direction, but the child's face lit up at the thought of seeking out the ranch hand. The boys adored him. The fact that he had picked them up at kindergarten yesterday had been the highlight of their lives, according to the excitement at the dinner table that night. Addie had flushed with guilt, not realizing that fathers picked up children from kindergarten and that little boys noticed such things.

  "He drives with one hand," Matt announced. "He put gas in your car. We got ice cream."

  "I know. You told me." She watched Ian trot toward the barn, his new sneakers kicking up clouds of brown dust as he swerved around cow manure. He held a metal truck in his hand and he waved at the barn door with the other, so he had seen John, thank goodness. No piece of heavy equipment or snorting four-legged animal burst from the dark opening before her small son disappeared inside, so Addie was free to close her eyes. "Come sit with me," she told Matt. "Hold my hand."

  "That's a baby thing," the boy grumbled, but he did as he was told.

  "But it makes me feel better," she said, which was nothing if not true.

  And the next thing she knew, strong arms lifted her from the ground and she was tucked against a strong chest. Cal's chest.

  "Addie," she heard, a rumble against her ear. "We're going to get you to the hospital. Hang on."

  "I don't need the hospital," she protested, feeling silly and yet very content to be snuggled against Cal's body. The spots were already receding now that her feet were higher than her head and some blood was rushing into her brain.